Eleventh Summer
by amythis
Summary: While Tony and Angela are off on a belated honeymoon, Jonathan helps Sam deal with Hank's abandonment. (Warning: if you're weirded out by step-sibling romance, which is perfectly understandable, you can skip every odd-numbered chapter after Chapter One and just concentrate on T & A fluff, smut, and a little drama.)
1. Fog

I just have to hold it together a little longer, until their ship sails. I'm not going to ruin this for them. They've worried enough over me, and not just this past month.

I can still remember when she revealed the trip, how happy we all were. Well, most of us. It was at my college graduation party. Dad was so happy anyway, so proud of me. When we came here, almost ten years ago, this was one of his dreams, that I'd get a good public education and then go on to higher education, the first person in the family to go to college. Of course, neither of us knew then that he'd graduate two years ahead of me, become a college professor himself, first at Wells and now at our alma mater, Ridgemont.

Angela raised her champagne glass and said, "Mission accomplished, Mr. Micelli." She's in advertising, she knows how to make alliteration work. And she smiled at Dad, who smiled back.

She's not quite been my mother all these years, but she's the closest I've had since Mama died. I mean Mom. I haven't said "Mama" since I was little. I don't know where that came from. I still call Angela by her name, but maybe if they hadn't taken so long to get together, maybe I'd have found something else to call her. Not "Mother," that's what she calls Mona, and it's a symbol of how different they are, despite their love. If I had a daughter, I'd have her call me Mama. But the likelihood of my having a daughter is much smaller than it was a month ago.

OK, Sam, this isn't helping. Try to be happy for them. You were that night.

"Thank you for helping me get through puberty and everything after, Mrs. Micelli," Dad said and clinked her glass. I was 11, going on 12, when I arrived, and she did keep Dad from going too crazy as I got my first bra, first hickey, first hangover, and other rites of passage. Now it's my first— No, not a happy subject.

"You're welcome. And now that the _S.S. Samantha Marie Micelli-Thomopolous_ is successfully launched into the world, perhaps you would like to set sail yourself." He stared at her, puzzled, not the only one. Then she took out an envelope and handed it to him.

She'd already given me my graduation gift, a shopping trip for job interview clothes, more fun than it sounds. Angela has great taste, more conservative than mine, but that was fine in this case, because I needed that classiness. Yes, I'm trying to break into the music business, but the management side.

Anyway, Dad said, "Angela, you don't have to give me anything."

"Not even an early anniversary gift?"

Dad and Angela have a lot of anniversaries, different occasions that they (the eternal romantics) observe religiously. So he and everyone had no idea which anniversary this was early for. Then he opened the envelope, took out a note, read it, and then exclaimed, "Baby, I love it!" Then he gave her a big hug and kiss.

They used to be shy about being affectionate in front of other people, but once they were officially a couple, they started acting like two teens in puppy love. I was old enough to not be bothered by it, but I know it embarrassed Jonathan at first, even though he'd been hoping they'd get together as long as and as much as I had. (Maybe more, considering I never set them up on a blind date.)

By that point, we were all very curious, but Mona (who's the most shameless person I know, which I admire her for, usually), grabbed the envelope from him and shared with the crowd that Angela had not only booked a cruise to Rome for her and Dad, but she was renting a castle in Italy for a month!

"_Enchanted April_," I murmured. Angela and I saw that movie when it came out a couple years ago. It's a total chick flick, but Dad enjoyed it when she got it on home video. I remember Angela and I half joking that we should leave Dad and Hank behind for a month, just soak up the sunshine on our own (OK, and we'd invite Mona, too, I guess), but we'd probably end up inviting Hank and Dad after a few days, just like the two married women do in the movie. She and Dad weren't married yet, just engaged. We were all visiting them in Iowa, right before they split up. Yeah, they worked things out. Sigh.

Angela met my eyes, a little guiltily, like she'd broken a promise to me, but I shook my head. I wished I could go. It would be the perfect way to celebrate the end of my education, but she and Dad didn't really get a honeymoon after he returned from Iowa. They married quickly and then he got the position at Ridgemont and, well, she's still sort of a workaholic. I knew it would do her, both of them really, good to get away for a couple months.

"So, two weeks' cruise each way, and then a month there? You're going to miss most of my summer at home," Jonathan said. Sometimes he can be such a little kid, even now!

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart." It's so easy to make Angela feel guilty.

"Are you kidding? It'll be non-stop parties for two months!"

Everyone laughed. I might've done that at 18, if I thought I could get away with it, but Jonathan? Too much of a nerd and a good boy. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing.

I played along. "Yeah, Hank and I will have to chaperone him." Everyone laughed. Well, almost everyone. Hank wasn't laughing much that evening. I had no idea what was bothering him. I mean, when he graduated from college, the same year as Dad, I was as proud of him as of Dad. And it's not like Hank is the kind of guy who'd be bothered by his wife getting a college degree. (It's not like I'd married Al.)

No one suggested Mona chaperone. She did when Angela was in Iowa, but this year she's got summer plans of her own. She did offer to give them up when, when everything fell apart. And so did Dad and Angela of course. But I don't want people hovering over me, worrying about me. It's like when Grandpa Nick died. I need to be left alone. At least I can count on Jonathan to not act parental.

The party ended soon after that. Mrs. Rossini made me cry when she said, "Your mother woulda been so proud of you, Samantha!" I think of her and Mona as my grandmothers, because both of my real ones were dead by the time I could walk. Yeah, I should be used to losing people by now, shouldn't I?

But those were happy tears. Life seemed so wonderful. I had a great future and everybody loved me. I thought.

I left my presents behind. I figured I could sort through them the next day, figure out what I could keep, what I could discreetly donate to Goodwill. I just wanted to go across the driveway, up the stairs, and make love with my husband, for the first time as a college graduate. And maybe, well, maybe we could start trying for a baby. Yes, I want a career, too, but I want to be a mom. Sorry, wanted.

But, Hank, who'd been eager enough when I was trying to study for finals, wasn't in the mood. Well, OK, we've been married a couple years. We're not honeymooners anymore. I'm no longer trying to make up for years of "technical virginity." Jesse was a year older and ready before I was, but nice about it. And when I was ready, Matt was too old-fashioned to do more than neck. And Fred, well, we kept it technical in that short rebound relationship. And there was of course the Catholic guilt, and thoughts of my white wedding someday (which happened, but not how I'd imagined, since I wore high-tops).

"It's OK, Sweetie, we can just cuddle," said I, the good, understanding wife.

But he moved away.

"What's wrong? What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing. I just—" He sighed and sat up. "Sam, I'm really sorry to do this to you, especially tonight. But I can't keep lying."

"Lying?" I whispered. Hank was one of the most honest, real people I'd ever met. Well, other than the puppetry part of course.

"Sam, look, this just isn't working for me."

"This? What, sex?"

"No, marriage."

I stared at him. "You want a— No, you can't!" I couldn't even say the word.

"Sam, I'm sorry. I wish this hadn't happened."

"Happened?" What had happened?

"I could say we got married too young or make excuses, but I know it's my fault."

"Fault?" All I could do was echo words.

"I've met someone else."

Clichéd, huh? And it's not like I shouldn't be used to it by now. Some people leave by dying. And some people leave by falling for someone else. I should've learned my lesson back in the days of Chad McCann, but, no, I just keep thinking I'm in love and learning that the guy isn't, at least not permanently. Why did I think a wedding ring would make a difference?

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. Hell, the last month has been a bit of a blur. I asked who she was, even though I know by now it doesn't matter if you know the Other Woman or not. At least she wasn't one of his old friends, or mine. I had met her. She auditioned for and got the puppetry job, the one Hank didn't get, on the movie Mona's working on. But no hard feelings. Yeah.

She's pretty I guess. I know she's funnier than I am. Goofy really. But he likes that. And obviously they have a lot in common. I always forget to look for that when I fall in love, but then look at who my main romance role-models are.

I know, I shouldn't resent them. I mean, I wanted Dad to be happy with Angela. I still want that. But it seems unfair sometimes, that they got the Big Happily Ever After, and it continues to elude me.

You know what's funny? Angela told me she used to be jealous of me, because I do fall in love so easily. I said, "Hey, I'm Italian." But that's not it. Dad is Italian and it's incredibly clear he's only been in love, or even close to being in love, twice. But when he falls, he falls hard.

Me, well, I usually bounce back after a few weeks of rage and overeating. Not this time though. I've been really good about not acting too upset on the surface. Why make everybody else miserable?

But under the surface? Since Hank left—and it wasn't even that night, he slept on the couch instead—I feel like I'm walking around in a fog. At least he had the decency to wait till after graduation to tell me, even if that meant lying and cheating a little longer. Since then, I haven't had to do anything but get through each day. I even went on a couple job interviews, although I was just a zombie, going through the motions as I answered questions like "What is your greatest weakness?" But I'm glad I'm not working right now. No responsibilities really.

Of course Dad and Angela feel guilty about leaving me for two months. They keep apologizing about the timing, keep offering to cancel. But Angela rented a friggin' castle! I mean, it's a small castle, but still. And them staying in Fairfield wouldn't do me any favors. I'm looking forward to crying all day, every day. Well, not in the sense of enjoying it, but in the sense of needing it. I'll just tell Jonathan to bug off, like when we were kids.

Someone knocks. I reluctantly answer. It's Jonathan. For some reason, I remember the 11-year-old who stole geraniums out of Mona's windowbox when I didn't want to deal with Grandpa's death. But all he's holding are car keys.

"You ready, Sam?"

I nod and we head down to Dad's Jeep.


	2. Tupperware

I try not to resent Sam. Obviously, this situation is not her fault, and she's done her best to hide her suffering. But that only makes me feel worse. It was hard enough to make myself plan to take two months of vacation, no matter how much needed, and now I feel terrible that I'm running off when Sam's marriage has crumbled. That I'm taking Tony, a very devoted father, away from his little girl right now adds to my guilt.

We did offer to cancel of course, but she refused to let us. And there she is smiling as she bids us goodbye, just like she did when we all saw Mother off at the airport earlier. I don't know if Mother feels any guilt. That's not really her style, or at least it isn't to show she feels any. We're all putting on brave faces, even Jonathan, who has least reason to.

I pulled him aside earlier and asked him to look after Sam. My little boy is an adult now. And even when he really was little, he could be surprisingly sensitive to Sam's pain, like when her grandfather died, or when she started crying as Ray Charles beautifully sang the song about friendship that Chad McCann wrote for her.

"What do you want me to do, Mom?" he whispered. "I don't know what to say. I've never been through a serious break-up, let alone a divorce."

"Just try to get her mind off it, like you did with me."

"You want me to drag her to the reptile house at the zoo every Saturday?"

I smiled. "If that's what it takes."

My marriage lasted longer than Sam's of course. And we had a child together. But I can imagine how hard this has hit Sam, under the surface, having seen her through so many break-ups, from Chad onward. The difference now is not only that she's older and the relationship more serious, but that she's not letting herself show her pain, as she did even over Matt at 18.

"Take care of yourself, Sweetheart," I say as I hug Sam goodbye.

"Bon Voyage," she replies.

I want to say more, to tell her that she doesn't have to act brave and tough all the time. I learned that lesson the hard way. But then all Tony's friends from the old neighborhood converge on us and the moment is gone.

Then before I know it, everyone is going down the gangplank, and Tony and I are left to wave to them, and I feel like I'm in an old movie, _Gentlemen Prefer Blondes_ or one of those ones made before the "jet age" took over. By the time I was a teenager and Mother and I went to Europe, everyone flew. Almost no one went by boat. Obviously, this isn't the most practical way to travel, but then this is a summer when Tony and I will do our best to not be practical.

The ship pulls away from the dock, but we keep waving, till even Mrs. Rossini is just a speck. Then Tony takes my hand and smiles at me.

"Well," he says.

I nod. After almost ten years together, there are times that we don't need words to communicate. I know that he means that we are alone for the first time, despite the crowd. We are about to embark on two months without friends and family surrounding us. And we will miss the others that we love, but we also need this, have needed it for a very long time.

I know, it's extreme. Taking the cruise to and from, and then renting a castle. But next month will be the tenth anniversary of when he reentered my life, although at the time I not only had no idea we had met as children (and even kissed!) but I couldn't even figure out what this man was doing on my doorstep that morning. I had absolutely no idea how much my life was about to change, to say nothing of his life, or the lives of our children. (Mother has lived her life on her own terms so much, I can't say as easily if it's been changed, but I suppose it has. I know she regards Tony and Sam as her family, and indeed has more in common with them than with me or Jonathan.)

Ten years ago, running my own business was as unimaginable as, well, as dating and then marrying an ex-jock from Brooklyn. If I had married someone else, maybe Geoffrey, maybe Andy, I can't see myself taking two months off from Wallace and McQuade. And, yes, when I tried to remove myself from the business for a year, I couldn't take more than a month away. But that was Iowa. Nothing against the Hawkeye State, but it can't compare to a Mediterranean island.

I wanted to rent the castle from _Enchanted April. _The one in the movie is the same one that the book was set in, in fact written in. But it's actually a museum now. And then my travel agent told me about the Castello Aragonese.

It's on a tiny island off the larger island of Ischia, in the Gulf of Naples. Tony has never been there, but he's as intrigued as I am about it. It's very remote but not inaccessible. He's half joked that his Aunt Rosa and other relatives may seek us out there, if we don't go visit them. I suppose we should try to squeeze in a visit to his Grandfather Micelli's village, see how the winery is doing now that Tony has turned it over to the townspeople.

When we visited before, Tony and I were definitely not a couple, although we were drawing closer after the painful interlude of Kathleen, helped along by our temporary responsibility for Billy. We did not know we were legally married in South Carolina, and I no longer daydreamed of being married to him. After almost two years, I still can't believe he's my husband. I came very close to losing him. And now here we are.

"Let's go to our cabin," he now says.

I nod. This was the one part I economized on, deciding not to opt for the deluxe suite. When everyone was down there earlier, it was like the stateroom scene in _A Night at the Opera_, no breathing room. It will be cramped even for just me and Tony, but I'm trying to think of it as cozy. And it's not as if we'll be spending the entire trip in there. I mean, there is shuffleboard, a small movie theater, a pool, and many other activities.

When we get to the door, he says, "Should I carry you over the threshold?"

"Well, it is our belated honeymoon."

He does the fireman's lift, making me laugh. I still manage to open the door, ignoring the strange looks we're getting from other passengers. (But then we were getting strange looks when Mrs. Rossini kept handing us Tupperware containers filled with her pasta. Talk about coals to Newcastle!)

I shut the door behind us and then Tony throws me on the bed. Well, gently throws me. I try not to land on the Tupperware. Then he lies down next to me and we begin kissing and caressing.

For a long time, even after we were engaged, we just could not easily fall into bed together. I mean, even necking seemed like it required jumping great hurdles. We'd spent so long trying not to be physically affectionate (although succumbing to kissing an average of once a year), that it took us awhile to accept that we could be. That we faced a series of minor disasters the night we first seriously attempted to cross that line didn't help.

But, yes, it's easier now that we're married, even if we rarely get privacy like this. Mmm, two months with Tony! And there will be no interruptions.

"Do you think Sam will be OK?"

I sigh. I try not to think of Sam telling us that the band was taking a break, when we were slow dancing at Paul and Isabel's wedding (before Tony encouraged me to dance with Geoffrey). And I try not to think of her rushing in, just as I was about to confess my love for Tony (or at least attempt to), in order to tell us why her crush du jour hadn't phoned her. I can't even let myself dwell on how she selfishly married Hank, at the little chapel I wanted to get married in, and then later whined about how she didn't get alone time with her husband because they'd moved into her old bedroom.

I love Sam like a daughter, but OK, there are times when I resent her interrupting me and Tony. And now she's doing it without even being present.

But I don't say that of course. Instead I say, "It's going to take time for her to heal."

He nods. "Yeah, when I lost Marie—Well, that was different. We'd built a life together, and we knew each other before marriage a lot longer than Sam knew Hank. But you? Was it hard for you when Michael left?"

I sigh. "I feel like Michael spent most of our marriage leaving. But then I've always liked unattainable men, so I suppose that was fitting."

"Yeah?" He turns flirty again. "Was that my appeal?"

"Of course, Tony. I knew I could never get you, and that made you devastatingly attractive." I'm joking but not.

He turns serious. "I definitely thought you were out of my league but I couldn't stop wanting you."

"Well, obviously we were wrong. Not to want each other, but to think we couldn't have each other."

He shakes his head. "I still can't get over it after ten years. Hell, back then I was afraid you wouldn't even hire me."

"Really? You acted very confident."

"Well, my old man taught me that. You act like you deserve what you want, and then you're more likely to get it."

"So why didn't you do that when you wanted me?"

He sighs. "A lot of reasons. For one, I'd lost Marie. I didn't want to go through that again."

I kiss his cheek. "I know. And I'd made such a mess of my first marriage—"

He kisses my hand. "No, that was Michael's fault. You're a good wife, Angela."

"Thank you. You're a good husband."

"Yeah? If I'm a good husband, why did I interrupt a makeout session in order to talk about my worries?"

"Well, you're also a good father. But you've raised Sam to be strong, and she will get through this, even if you're not there for the next two months."

"I hope so."

"Tony, do you want to go back up on deck and look in the direction of America?"

He smiles. "Yeah, I'd like that."

So we do, holding hands as we gaze towards our home that's drifting further and further away. We can't entirely cut ourselves free, but maybe we shouldn't try to.


	3. Anchor

"Hey, Kid," the raspy voice whispers in my ear, "you gotta do somethin' about Sam."

I back away a little but I keep my voice low as I ask, "What do you want me to do about it? She's over 21."

"It ain't just the drinkin'. It's how it's makin' her act."

I glance over at Sam. She's just sitting on Philly's beat-up old couch, talking to Tiny. "How is she acting?'

"Well, she flirted with me."

I look at Philly again. He's not ugly or anything, but I can't see Sam going for a little guy with a fedora and a mustache. "She flirted with you?"

"Yeah. I mean, don't get me wrong. She's pretty hot. If I hadn't known her since she was a little girl, and if I didn't know Tony would kill me, I'd go for it."

"And if she weren't drunk?"

"Oh, well, yeah, right."

"What makes you think she was flirting with you?"

"Well." He actually looks a little embarrassed, which I don't think I've ever seen before. "She asked me how I got the last name 'Fingers.' "

"Oh. Well, she didn't necessarily mean anything by that."

"It was the way she said it."

"Oh." I have some more of my drink (7-Up, because Philly's beer sucks) before I ask, "How did you get it?"

Still looking embarrassed, he says, "Shoplifting."

"Oh."

"Anyway, you gotta get her outahere, Jonathan, before she hits on Tiny. And he's got less restraint than I do."

I don't say that I can't picture Sam flirting with Tiny, or even asking him how he got his nickname. (I assume it's an ironic thing, because he's tall and fat, but you never know.) Instead I say, "Well, I'll try."

Both Mom and Tony asked me to look after Sam while they're gone. I don't know what they think I can do. Has Sam ever listened to anything I had to say? She's the "big sister," she gives me advice, not the other way around. And even though I've just completed my first year of college, at MIT no less, she probably still sees me as that weird little kid with the reptile collection and the Dutch Boy Paint haircut.

And as for making sure she has enough fun that the sting of Hank leaving her will hurt less, well, that's not exactly the challenge at the moment.

She's standing on Philly's beat-up coffee table and dancing to the _Animal House _soundtrack, as Tiny and the rest of the crowd gaze at her in wonder. I wish Mrs. Rossini hadn't left the bon voyage party early. She said, "This isn't really my scene." We'd have been safer going home with her. She would've overfed us and maybe let Sam cry on her shoulder. And since she's divorced herself, despite being a very good Catholic, she would've had empathy.

I know if I say, "Sam, get down from there," she definitely won't listen to me. I can't tell her she looks ridiculous, and I can't tell her that she's turning some of the guys on, although both are true.

So instead I take a deep breath and climb up on the table. It only takes a minute of me dancing next to her, in my best (I mean worst) Lame White Guy style, for her to stop dancing and start laughing.

"You geek!" she exclaims affectionately and gives me a big hug. That makes it easier to gently get her feet back on the floor.

Then I say, "Hey, Sam, I am really tired. What do you say we call it a night?"

"Are you a wimp, too? The night's just getting started."

I don't know what to do. I can't leave her here, with no one to look after her. I mean, I like Tony's friends, but they're not the most responsible, sensitive guys I've ever met. Even if the worst that happens is she has a one-night stand, that's still pretty bad, especially considering how much her judgment is impaired right now. And Tony would be furious if he found out, at her, at his friends, probably at me for not protecting her.

Then I hear Mrs. Rossini bellowing, "Rudy! You rotten cat, where are you?" It's music to my ears.

"Come on, Sam, we have to go help Mrs. Rossini find her cat!"

"But I don't want to leave the party."

"We'll come right back after, I promise."

"Well, OK. Philly, we'll be right back."

"Take your time."

She lets me lead her out to the hallway and then down a couple flights to Mrs. Rossini's apartment. Sam's "honorary grandmother" is standing in the doorway as if she's been expecting us. She nods at me but says, "OK, Sam, you wait in the living room in case he comes back, and, Jonathan, you come with me."

Sam stumbles into the living room and sits on the couch. Mrs. Rossini closes the door and then leads me downstairs.

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Rossini! You have no idea."

"I have some idea. I know Tony's friends. They're not bad people, but a little rough, and she don't need their kind of fun right now."

"What am I going to do? We can't keep her in your apartment all night. She'll want to go back to the party."

"Don't worry about it. Come on." She leads me outside, where her cat is lying on the sidewalk in the moonlight. This is at least the third of her cats I've met. She always names them after mayors of New York, preferably the Italian ones. This one she got a few months ago, after Giuliani got elected.

She picks up Rudy and strokes his fur.

"Shouldn't we be getting back to Sam? If we wait too long, she might go back to the party on her own and then I might never get her to leave."

"Give it one more minute."

So I do, not understanding any of this. But then the whole evening has been crazy, starting with Philly inviting us to a bon voyage party after Mom and Tony set sail.

When I was a kid, it was always an adventure to go to Tony and Sam's old neighborhood. It seemed so loud and colorful. It still does, but I prefer the quiet of Fairfield right now. I know that's a terrible confession for a college freshman, almost sophomore, to make, but I can't help it. I'd been looking forward all semester to coming home, seeing the family, relaxing. And then Hank threw everything into chaos, and Mom and Tony ran off to leave me to deal with it.

I know, that's not fair. They offered to cancel. And it's not like Sam is crying on my shoulder every night, or at all. But I didn't count on being her bodyguard.

"OK, let's head back," Mrs. Rossini says, so I guess the minute is up.

We return to her apartment and Sam is passed out on the couch.

"How did you know?" I whisper.

She shrugs and sets Rudy down. "You learn these things through experience. And someone as small as Sam has gotta be a lightweight. Now we just gotta carry her down to Tony's Jeep."

I almost say something about wishing that her landlord would fix the elevator, but I bite my tongue so I don't sound like some spoiled rich boy. The elevator obviously inconveniences her more than me, and at least we'll be carrying Sam downstairs rather than up.

She's right that Sam is small, about 5'2". I've been taller than her for years, but she's got enough attitude she might as well be Mrs. Rossini's size. I know my friends thought it was funny that I was so intimidated by her, but you've got to remember that when I was 8 and she was 11 going on 12, she seemed almost grown-up to me. Plus, she had that Brooklyn sassiness. When she told me she once had a boa constrictor that ate a kid bigger than me, I quickly learned to fear her.

But I think I was also fascinated by her, I mean when I was little. Like when my dad fired Tony (out of jealousy I now think, even though there was nothing between Tony and Mom, yet), I missed Sam terribly. It was like all the fun went out of the house when she and Tony left. She was like no other girl I'd ever met. Well, that's still true I guess.

Petite or not, Sam isn't the easiest burden to carry down five flights of stairs, even with a helper as burly as Mrs. Rossini. I'm tempted to go ask one of the guys at the party for assistance, but that's probably not a good idea. Luckily, I've parked close to the apartment building, so there isn't much further to go. I wonder if Sam will wake up and if that will make this harder or easier, but she stays passed out.

"What the hell was she drinking?" Mrs. Rossini asks.

I shrug. "I couldn't keep track of it all."

"You OK? You sober? If not, just tell me and I'll drive you two back to Connecticut."

"I had a couple sips of bad beer, and that was over an hour ago."

"OK. But if you feel tired or something, just pull over to the side of the road."

I nod. I've heard all the safe driving lectures—how could I not living with Mom and Tony? Sam says they raised us through more lectures than she got in college—but I know Mrs. Rossini means well. She cares about both of us.

She helps me buckle Sam into the front passenger's seat. Then she gives me a big hug, pinches my cheeks of course, and then wishes me luck. Oh, and she describes how to brew the coffee Sam will need when she wakes up.

And then I head out. It's a quiet drive at first. I think about putting on the radio or playing some CDs, but I figure the longer Sam sleeps, the better.

The problem with that is, it leaves me alone with my thoughts, and I don't really want that right now. You see, and I know this is going to sound crazy, but I'm jealous of Sam.

I mean, not that I want to have a marriage crumble, or even have a marriage, not for years and years. But I am envious that she's been through so many serious and semi-serious relationships in the past few years, and I still have trouble getting second dates. Oh, I'm not blind. I know that Sam is exactly what a lot of guys are looking for, and I'm not what most girls are looking for. But I don't need most girls. I just need one who really likes me, and that I really like. I don't know why that's so tricky, but it is.

Also, although she understandably hasn't looked very hard for work lately, she knows what she wants to do with her life, her career. Yeah, she's older but she's always seemed to have a better sense of herself and what she wants. I know this would surprise Tony, Mom, and Grandma if I said it, but I think Sam is more focused than I am. Yeah, she can be lazy and unmotivated, but if she really wants something she goes after it and gets it. I tend to be like Mom (and sometimes Tony) and I overdo things when I try. Grandma jokes sometimes that Sam is her true grandchild, and this is one example.

(The big chest is another example, but I really don't want to think about that. For a lot of reasons.)

Grandma would've offered to take Sam with her to Hollywood, but I don't know if Sam would've gone, even if Hank weren't visiting his new girlfriend on set. I know, I still can't get over it, even a month later. How could Hank, who seemed like such a nice guy, cheat on Sam? Not just cheat on her but leave her? And for a woman, who's—well, I don't want to say anything mean about a stranger, even about The Other Woman, but she's not as pretty as Sam, not even close.

I know it's not about looks. Was Kathleen prettier than my mother? Not that Tony and Mom were involved back then, but it felt like cheating. At least he wasn't stupid enough to leave Mom for her.

But, still, yeah, I envy Sam. She's had experiences. She's not afraid of life, like I sometimes am. She can get drunk and dance on tables. I only dance on tables to make her stop.

She wakes up as we reach New Rochelle. I could see her insisting I take her back to the party. And I'd probably give in if she yelled enough. Not just out of weakness but because I don't get why she has to be my problem. Yeah, she's my stepsister, but she's an adult. Part of being adventurous is you don't want or need some kid brother acting like an anchor.

But she says, "God, my head hurts."

"You want to stop and get some coffee?"

"Nah, I'll wait till I get home. That is where you're taking me, isn't it?"

I shrug. "It's on my way."

She laughs and then winces as if it hurts to laugh.

"I'll put on some music," I say. I click on the radio, and the first thing that comes on is "Louie, Louie." We both wince. Then I find an instrumental station and there are no more words for the rest of the ride home.


	4. Ashtray

Angela and I end up eating in our cabin. We're not feeling too social, and we might as well have some of the pasta before it goes bad. There's no microwave, so we just eat it cold, with our fingers, like little kids.

I know, not exactly what you picture when you think of a honeymoon, but Angela and I tend to do things differently from everyone else anyway. And I'm alone with her, really alone with her, after so long, and that's romantic enough.

The pasta gets a little messy, but that's OK. Well, I feel a little guilty for the poor chambermaid or whatever you call it on a boat. Actually, I feel guilty for a lot of reasons.

First and foremost is of course Sam. OK, I always thought she got married too young, and this proves it. Yeah, I got to like Hank. He wasn't a bad guy, I thought. And, yeah, who am I to judge, when I sort of cheated on Angela, with a woman I didn't even really like? Not that it would've made me a saint if I had fallen in love with Kathleen, but the whole thing would've made more sense. Not that it's any comfort to Sam of course that Hank loves this woman enough to leave his wife.

I was always so protective of Sam. From her first dance (with the luckily harmless Bobby) on out. She's my only daughter and, well, I am Italian. And I was less strict with her than Nick was with Marie, I can tell you. Angela and Mona saw to that.

And, OK, I wasn't exactly a virgin on my wedding night. Sam probably was on hers, if only because she got with Hank so quickly, and Matt was usually 2000 miles away from her. As for Jesse, he was a good kid, I liked him (until he cheated on Sam). I don't think he tried anything with her.

But, see, that's the thing. I had the old-fashioned idea that if I did my job right, Sam would be a virgin when she got married and they'd live happily, and faithfully, ever after. So who do I blame now? Joe and Fran for not raising Hank right?

I would never, ever cheat on Angela again. Not only because of the hell I created for everybody last time, but because now I really am committed to her. It's not just that we're married. Even when she left me in Iowa, I couldn't date again, and I did have opportunities. As long as she holds my heart, I can't think of another woman. (OK, I still check out cute girls, but I'm a guy, that's normal. I don't want to do anything with them.)

Anyway, I know Hank is to blame, but I can also understand him more than I'd like to. And yet, he hurt my little girl. She's still suffering, although she's doing the Micelli (and Milano) thing of doing her best to hide it. So what are you gonna do?

And meanwhile there's Angela. Sweet, loving, giving Angela. I remember Marie once gave me an ashtray she made in her high school Pottery class. I laughed at it because it was so twisted and un-ashtray-like. Plus, I didn't and don't smoke. (You think I want a voice like Philly Fingers?) I still kick myself about that laughter. No wonder she never told me later when she was taking art lessons!

Anyway, you don't laugh at a gift of love. I was too young and stupid to know that then. Not that there's anything laughable about this cruise (except how tiny this cabin is and, hell, my grandparents came over in steerage, so I can deal with it), but you don't say no to a gift of love either.

Even if it's too extravagant. I know that even cabins as tiny as this one are costly. And Angela rented us a castle! Who does that? The woman who spent $200 on a peasant blouse, that's who.

There's nothing I can do to match that, not monetarily anyway. It's been a very hard lesson for me, especially after being raised to be the provider, and having done my best to be that for Marie, to just let Angela be generous. She can afford this and I have to let her spoil me. It's not like she's not spoiling herself, too, and let's face it, Angela can also run to the extreme of denying herself, and not just monetarily.

I love to watch her eat. It's best if it's something I made for her of course, but I remember when Jonathan set us up on a blind date (and we thought it was Michael's doing) and we gorged ourselves. Yeah, she was gorgeous gorging. I mean, not that I want her to be a pig all the time, but it is fun to see her indulge herself. And not just with food of course.

We take turns washing our faces and hands at the little sink in the corner. Then we undress each other, with the excuse that the pasta got on our clothes. Not that we need excuses of course.

My mind isn't totally at ease, and she knows that. Hers probably isn't either. She's been helping me raise Sam almost since the day we met. Well, as soon as Sam got over her "She ain't my mother, you are" attitude. Angela worries about Sam, understands why I worry.

But here's the thing. Sam isn't going to be any happier if Angela and I don't enjoy our long awaited honeymoon. In fact, she'd probably feel worse if she thought we spent the whole time worrying about her. I mean, not that she needs to know details. But I'd like to think she still wants us to be happy, even if her own marriage didn't work out.

The bed is narrow, but that's OK. It makes me think of that motel Angela and I ended up in the night after we found out we were each other's first kiss. And it makes me think of sharing a narrow bed on the train to Washington. Those were frustrating nights, believe me. I could handle sleeping down the hall from her, because when the sexual tension got too strong, I could almost convince myself that she was miles away. Kind of hard to do when she's lying right next to me.

This is nice though, because I don't have to be "a mature adult," I don't have to be "a monk." I can be a loving husband.

I kiss and caress her as I've done hundreds of times by now, but this never gets old. She always responds as if she's never been kissed and caressed like this. I don't mean like a virgin, but like a woman who is still getting used to being fully loved.

I don't think she was before. I mean, yeah, she'd been with guys (not that many), but none of them really gave her what I give her. I'm not boasting. I'm not saying I'm the best she's ever had (although she says I definitely am). I'm saying that Michael cared too much about himself, and the rest didn't begin to understand her. And I don't just mean her body.

I've been with a lot of women who've satisfied me. Maybe that's boasting. I think I'm lucky. Or maybe I'm easily satisfied. But only one woman before Angela loved me thoroughly, the same woman who was the only one I thoroughly loved, although I did my best to please a lot of women, before and after Marie.

But with Angela? I used to feel guilty about it, how much I loved Angela, that it was as much as, maybe even more than Marie. Not that Marie wouldn't have wanted me to find someone again, she wasn't selfish. She wanted me and Sam to be happy after she left us. Not right away of course, but when the pain died down.

But I thought it would be like with Gina. You know, some nice old-fashioned Italian girl to fuss over me. Somebody I liked that I might grow to love. And, OK, somebody who wasn't a threat to Marie's memory. I would've respected Gina (or whoever) enough not to make comparisons. But I'd know that there would be no love that could match my first love.

And then I met Angela. I can't say it was love at first sight. But what grew to be love was there from the start. Angela wasn't my type, I thought, so I didn't even suspect it could happen. Yeah, I thought she was beautiful, but so's the _Mona Lisa_, and I never wanted to take it to bed. And even when I acknowledged my attraction to her, well, I thought that was just inevitable with two, how did Joanne Parker put it? "Two healthy, attractive, young people cohabitating outside of marriage."

And even when I started to admit I loved Angela, I kept putting qualifiers on it. Till finally I had to face it. I loved her. I was in love with her. And she was in love with me, which was even more incredible.

And I love her more than I loved Marie. And that's OK. Marie's not glaring down at us from Heaven. If she knows, she's happy for me. Why be selfish in Heaven? There's a line like that in _Enchanted April_, this movie that Angela made me watch. (It was actually pretty good, though don't tell Philly and Tiny I said that.) That's the movie that gave her this crazy, wonderful idea of renting a castle.

And that's why I'm now lying very close to Angela in a narrow bed, kissing her ear and massaging her between the legs, as the ship gently rocks us. (Obviously, this is not one of the times that Marie is looking down on us. She's very discreet.) I murmur I-love-yous and You're-beautifuls again and again. I don't have to be witty right now. This is enough. After all, Angela can barely form words, let alone simple declarative sentences, after awhile

Yeah, I've dated women who could barely do that anyway. I'm not proud of it, but I didn't know how fun smart girls could be. Not that those girls were all morons (Marie definitely wasn't), but I think Frankie was the first really intelligent woman I took to bed. It can be intimidating of course (and God knows I was a bit scared of Kathleen, although mostly for other reasons), but there's something about a woman who is confident enough in her intelligence to truly let go and be incoherent when necessary. And Angela approaching and reaching and coming back from an orgasm are definitely among those necessary times.

Sometimes Angela likes to snuggle close when I make her come like this, not that the bed is giving us much choice at the moment. I love the feel of her shivering with joy in my arms, as her head rests on my shoulder. Other times, she'll move her head back enough to look into my eyes. We've always communicated (and miscommunicated) a lot through our eyes. Even when her eyes are shut in pleasure, they're definitely still telling me something. And there is nothing like Angela looking me straight in the eye and telling me that she wants me inside her as soon as possible.

I can't think of a time I've ever said no to that. I mean, she wouldn't ask if I were miserable or asleep or in the middle of grading exams. But she knows when to ask of course. And now is a very good time to ask. So she pulls her head off my shoulder, looks me in the eye, and, well, if I weren't hard already, that would do it for me.

She's on the Pill, so we never have to stop and deal with protection, which is great. Yeah, OK, I should just be using the Rhythm Method. I'm not a very good Catholic I'll admit. But if I'd trusted to that all these years, well, Sam would have a lot of little brothers and sisters. And maybe a couple older ones by Tanya or the Benedetti twins.

Yeah, Angela and I have talked about having kids. Ever since we babysat little Clint. God, I can't believe that kid is eight now! Mona's promised to take pictures for us. I can't believe Norman actually has a lead role in a movie, but that's a whole other story.

Anyway, back then, taking care of Clint, that was the first time Angela and I thought about what it'd be like to have a baby together. But we weren't even dating. And we got older and, well, not to be sexist, but it's just how Nature is. Angela's time is running out. Pregnancy gets riskier for her every year. And I don't want to lose her!

"Tony," she says as she lays back and spreads her legs, "do you want to make a baby in Italy?"

"An-gel-a! Your timing!"

"I'm sorry. I ruined the moment, didn't I?"

"No, it's OK, but—Are you still on the Pill?"

"Yes, but I want to know if I should go off it."

"Not yet. And let's discuss this later, all right?"

"All right. Do you want to do now what might make a baby if I went off the Pill?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm having trouble getting my focus."

So then she looks me straight in the eye again and uses her warm toes to stroke my back. And before I know it I'm deep inside her and murmuring incoherently.


	5. Coffee and Sympathy

"Thanks for seeing me home," I say, as he stands uncertainly in the doorway.

"Of course. Are you, are you going to be all right?"

Does he mean tonight? Or in the big picture? I shrug. I don't know in either case, but I don't want him worrying about me.

"Do you want me to make you coffee? Mrs. Rossini said I should."

"Do you know how to make coffee?"

"Well, no, not really."

I sigh. "Come in. I'll teach you how. It's an important life skill."

I make enough for him, too, although he didn't drink like a depressed fish tonight. I know, it was stupid. I think I also was flirting with Philly and Tiny, although I've got partial temporary memory loss about that, which I hope continues. I hope they're not going to tell Dad about tonight. Of course, Philly wouldn't look too good himself, letting me get drunk like that.

"You're not going to tell Dad about tonight, are you?" I ask, suddenly remembering that Jonathan is sort of my kid brother. He might not do it out of spite. It might be out of concern. But I do not want Dad to know.

Jonathan shakes his head. "You're an adult. And it's not like I didn't dance on the coffee table, too."

I smile. He's being deliberately dense. I appreciate that.

We go over and sit on the couch. Mona left a lot of her furniture behind when Dad pulled the switcheroo on her. I feel guilty about that now, even though it was his idea. Well, I guess it was sort of my fault, because Hank and I were too loud in bed. No, not like that! But you know, talking, giggling. Dad got so mad he ripped off my bedroom door! Sending us to Mona's seemed like a more peaceful solution at the time, even if she wasn't crazy about it.

"I guess I should move back into my old room."

"What?"

"Now that my reason for leaving is gone."  
"Oh, right. But you'll be moving out entirely soon anyway, right?"

"Why?"

"When you get a job. You're not going to keep living at home, are you?"

"Well, no." I hadn't thought about that. I used to long to be on my own. That's why I considered going to boarding school. Why I fell for a New Mexico cowboy. Why I moved into the dorms, and temporarily rented a house with a couple (big mistake). But I can see why Mona liked living here. It's near the main house but with independence enough. And I'm not really feeling like I'm ready to strike out on my own. I want to be left alone, but I want to see the family. Except of course, most of them are gone right now.

"I guess there's no hurry. You may as well stay here till Grandma gets back from California. Even if you get a job in the City, you could commute, at least at first."

There are days I can barely brush my teeth. I can't see myself as being an urban commuter. Not yet.

I don't say that. Instead I tease, "You just don't want me to run off and leave you all alone."

"Yeah, right. You're just one more adult who's getting in the way of my partying."

"Yeah, I saw what a party animal you were tonight."

"Well, maybe if there'd been a bunch of middle-aged female losers for me to get drunk with and flirt with."

I wince, although I probably deserved that.

"Hey, Sam, I'm really sorry! That was low. I know we're sarcastic with each other, but I took it too far that time."

I shake my head and say, "Fuhgeddaboudit!"

He laughs and says, "You get your accent back every time you visit the old neighborhood."

"Do I? I felt like such a Connecticut college girl tonight."

He almost says something but stops himself. I decide not to ask.

Then we drink coffee in silence for awhile.

"This is good," he says.

"Thanks."

"I'm glad you're not running off and leaving me all alone."

He sounds sincere, no hidden zinger at the end. So I say, "I'd miss you, too, Jonathan." I've never said that in so many words. There've been a lot of times over the years when I thought Dad and I would have to move out permanently, like when he was offered a job in D.C. I remember I'd just started dating Jesse, so he wasn't really a factor, but I knew I would miss Angela, Mona, and Jonathan.

Jonathan and I don't get mushy about our not-quite-sibling-hood. Part of it is that for most of the time we've known each other, our parents weren't quite a couple, but not quite not a couple. We lived together as brother and sister without having a name for it.

The year that he was a freshman at my high school (he'd skipped 6th grade and I hadn't yet accelerated), we started really fighting like brother and sister. Dad and Angela seemed really close to getting together—we even saw them making out in Jamaica!—and maybe we were dealing with that by already acting like we were related. Or maybe I just didn't want the weird little dweeb at my school. (OK, not as little as he had been. He was as tall as I was by then, if you counted his rooster's crest forelock.)

Then Kathleen happened, and we realized that there were worse things than being forced to spend time together. I wouldn't say it made us best friends. I mean, my dad had cheated on his mom! Jonathan knew it wasn't my fault of course, but it did make things awkward. Then it turned into a bonding thing, and then once Kathleen was gone, we went back to waiting and hoping for our parents to finally get together. It wasn't like when we were little kids (well, he was little, I was practically a teenager), where it all seemed so simple. But maybe it was more possible than it used to be.

They did get together. They dated. They got engaged. They lived together in Iowa. (I teased Dad about that, living in sin. But I was happy for them.) And when they worked everything out, they got married. So the boy who had been like a kid brother all these years really was my stepbrother at last. Only we weren't kids anymore. Well, I wasn't.

"Good thing Hank's the one who had the affair. If it were you, I'd be stuck here having coffee with him and his puppets."

I stare at him and set my cup down so hard I almost shatter it. Now he's really crossed the line! But before I can get mad, I start laughing. I guess it's at the thought of Hank's puppets drinking coffee, or that Jonathan would have to sober them all up after going a little crazy at a bon voyage party.

He grins back at me and sets down his own cup, like he's afraid to spill it if he laughs.

"You jerk!" I say. And then, um. Well, I grab him, to playfully shake him, but somehow it turns into a kiss! I know, I'm kissing Jonathan! My kid brother, my stepbrother, the dweeb! This is the craziest thing I've done tonight, and that includes asking Tiny if his son Elvis ever asks about me!

He doesn't kiss back. He doesn't back away either. When I come to my senses and stop, he has a deer-frozen-in-the-headlights expression, always a turn-on.

"It's OK," he says shakily. "You're drunk."

I feel like he's slapped me. Imagine kissing Jonathan and being rejected by him! Can I sink any lower? "And on the rebound," I snap.

"Yeah, right." He gets to his feet. "Thanks for the coffee, Sam. Goodnight."

I feel like I should stop him but I have no idea what to say. I don't even know what just happened, so how could I explain myself to him? After he leaves, closing the door gently, like he doesn't want to disturb my muddled head, I just sit here, trying to sort out why I kissed him.

Was it just that he was there? A familiar, somewhat sympathetic, more-attractive-than-Philly-Fingers guy? Am I so messed up that I can't even distinguish between my love for my almost-brother and genuine attraction? Am I just lonely? Horny? In need of proving that I'm still attractive, even if guys keep leaving me?

This one didn't even leave me for another girl. But what else was he supposed to do? Respond enthusiastically? I mean, Jonathan is an 18-year-old guy and I'm guessing if it had been somebody other than his "big sister," he wouldn't have run off. But I'm his half-drunk, miserable, dumped stepsister. What a prize! And he probably guessed I was kissing him for the wrong reasons, whatever those reasons were.

I mean, we're not Greg and Marcia Brady. It's not like we've got stepsibling lust for each other. We're closer to Peter and Marcia, in age difference and relationship. Even Bobby and Marcia at times. This came out of nowhere, and no wonder he backed off.

Well, Sam, you got what you wanted, didn't you? You wanted the family to leave you alone, and now all of them will, even pesky Jonathan. I really hope he won't tell Dad about this! And can you imagine Angela's reaction?

I wish I could tell Mona. She's seen it all, done it all. She might be a little surprised but she wouldn't judge me. But it's not really a conversation I want to have long-distance. I'll try to wait till she comes home. And by then, I'll have figured out what actually happened here tonight.

I know one thing, there is no way I'm moving back to my old bedroom now! Sleeping right next to Jonathan, I mean the room right next to his, would be beyond awkward. I'm not even sure about staying in this apartment anymore.

Well, I guess I'll have to pull myself together enough to get a job and then a place of my own. I can be gone by the time Dad and Angela return, and they'll just think I wanted independence, and a life that didn't remind me so much of Hank.

Yeah, this is all Hank's fault. Him and his damn puppets!


	6. Preconceived Notions

When Tony and I make love in the morning, I have the common sense not to mention conception or contraception. I didn't mean to last night. It's just I'd been thinking about it off and on, when I wasn't worrying about Sam, or worrying about Tony worrying about Sam. Making a baby is not my sole or even central reason for this honeymoon. After all, I'm 44. I know my chances dwindle every year. But there is still a chance, and it would be a good secondary motive to be alone with Tony for two months.

My timing was also bad because he's worried about his child, so I should've been sensitive to that, not brought up the possibility of having another child, not just then anyway. I worry about my child, too, of course. Jonathan is 18 and he has been away at college, but this is his first summer back, and now the only one of the family around is the one he has the most difficult relationship with, and the one who, for very understandable reasons, most doesn't want to talk to anyone.

I wonder if it was unfair to ask him to look after Sam. That was a burden to put on him. He should just enjoy his summer vacation. Maybe I'll send him a postcard saying that, if I can think of a way to phrase it without insulting Sam.

I make myself focus on Tony again. I really do like sex on a ship. No wonder you hear about shipboard romances. The gentle swaying of the waves adds a certain something to lovemaking.

"We should get a waterbed," Tony says, and I know that his thoughts have overlapped mine, as sometimes happens.

I nod and then lock eyes with him. He moans and starts stroking deeper, faster, till his eyes shut as if he can't take anymore. I always do something to intensify this for him, this time stroking his spine with my fingertips.

"Unfair!" he cries, and then with that willpower that amazes me sometimes, he pulls all the way out and rubs himself along the outside.

"I'm unfair? You're the big tease!"

"You were trying to make me come too soon."

I grab him. "Maybe. Because. I. Like. It. When. You. Come." With each word, I move him in or out of me.

"Well, I love it when you come," he says, taking control of himself again, and giving me very teasing thrusts.

It's not always like this. Sometimes we are dead serious when we make love. But we do get into odd, playful moods like this sometimes. What's amazing is that our moods match up most of the time.

We start wrestling on the bed, one on top and then the other. The sex continues all through this, even if he's not in me every moment. My first orgasm of the day is on top of him, with both of us laughing. Then, with me sufficiently distracted, he easily wrestles his way back on top of me and gives me sweet, deep pushes and thrusts. The ocean does its best to help us along.

I stroke his hair and gaze into his eyes and this time he lets himself come. We used to use condoms as well as my diaphragm, when we first started. We were living in Iowa, but it'd been less than two years since Kathleen. They used condoms. (Thank God! Can you imagine if he'd gotten her pregnant? What a disaster that would've been for everyone, including I suppose her.) I'd come close to having sex with Andy a few times but something held me back. Anyway, when Tony and I got married, we agreed to just use the Pill and not rush into any decisions about babies.

I know, Tony and I seldom rush into decisions. And I know I don't have much time left. It doesn't have to be this summer, if it happens. But I love the idea of conceiving our child on a beautiful Italian honeymoon.

This is fine right now though. I'm perfectly fine with recreational rather than procreational sex. I love coming as I surround Tony, and I also love him coming inside me. That's beautiful in itself.

As we're snuggling afterwards (we can't really not snuggle in this tiny bed, not that I'm complaining), he's the one who brings it up. "So you want a baby with me, Angela?"

"Yes," I say softly. "I think I've always wanted one. Well, since Baby Clint."

"Yeah, me, too. But it's risky. I don't know if I want to put you through that."

"I'm healthy, Tony. And I can afford the best medical care."

"Yeah, but still."

"Do you not want a baby?" I have to accept it if he doesn't. I'd expect him to accept it if I didn't. But that doesn't mean I won't be disappointed.

"Let me put it this way. I love the family that we have. I'd like to see it expand though. But I don't want us to be one of those couples desperate to have a baby. You know, where sex is all scheduled and clinical. I want it to be fun, loving, like always."

I nod. "No trips to the fertility clinic. I'm not desperate to have a child, although I can understand the women who are. I feel like we're complete like this, but a baby would add something."

"Yeah. And I think we did a pretty good job with Sam and Jonathan."

"Yes. We're a good team."

He kisses my cheek. "Yeah. Let's wait till we get to Italy, and then if we feel like we want to start trying, then you can go off the Pill."

"Well, it takes a few months for some women's bodies to adapt. With others, it's right away. Since I'm older, I don't know."

"Didn't you talk to your doctor about this?"

"I wanted to talk to you first."

"Oh. I guess we should've discussed that when planning the trip."

"We've been a bit distracted."

"Yeah." Then he surprises me by asking, "Do you think Jonathan will be OK?"

"Jonathan? He's not the one who's going through a marital separation."

"No, but we sort of left him to pick up the pieces. Well, I did. I asked him to look after Sam while we're gone."

"Oh. I did, too."

He smiles and kisses me. "Thank you."

"I think he would anyway. I mean, he's very young of course, but he cares about her like a sister. He said he didn't know what to do for her, but I think him just being there will be comforting."

"Yeah, they've always been good buddies, haven't they?"

"Yes." I smile, remembering how they hit it off almost from the start. Well, certainly by the time they ran off to Brooklyn together.

"I bet they'd even split the babysitting."

I laugh. "Well, we should've had the baby years ago. Before Sam graduated from college and Jonathan started."

"Yeah? When would you have preferred I knock you up?"

"Oh, I don't know, since you put that so nicely. Maybe 1987."

"Why '87?"

"Well, that was the year you realized you liked being a family man instead of a bachelor. And that was the year I realized I loved you."

"Yeah? How do you know that? How do women know that?"

"Well, I guess we spend more time talking about our feelings than men do. Not that I faced mine right away, obviously. But once I did, I knew."

He shakes his head. "So '87. And the kid would be born in '88. Already done with kindergarten."

"Right."

"What about me going to college? That probably wouldn't have happened."

"I suppose not. Maybe things had to happen the way they did."

"Maybe," he says.

Neither of us speaks of Kathleen, but we seldom do.

"Maybe if I get pregnant, it'll happen the way it's meant to."

"Yeah. And that might mean a boring, old Connecticut conception."

"Conception could never be boring between us," I say with a grin.

He grins back and I have the feeling that we're going to be doing quite a bit of "what might make a baby if I went off the Pill" for the rest of this cruise.


	7. Monique

I wake up with an erection and the thought _Sam kissed me! _These are related phenomena, but their exact relationship is not clear-cut.

For one thing, I've been waking up about half the mornings of the past five years with an erection. (It's tempting to say that the other half I had wet dreams instead, but I suppose there have been a few un-horny mornings in my teens.) I can get hard at any almost time of day or night, and usually with less provocation than a pretty girl unexpectedly kissing me.

Yes, I think she's pretty. I'm not blind! But I don't want to examine my feelings just yet. I'm not the one who started this. She is, and I'm trying to figure out why, without having to actually talk to her about it.

She'd been drinking and in a flirty mood earlier. She could've as easily have kissed Philly or Tiny or any of the guys at the party. She was more sober by the time we got home, but she still wasn't quite herself.

Also, she wasn't wrong when she said she was on the rebound. Not too flattering either way, but I understand. Hank rejected her and she hasn't gotten over that.

In any case, it wasn't about me, right? I was just someone handy, convenient. A guy near her age (well, more than Philly), and near her on the couch. I don't think she intended to kiss me. It wasn't planned. She could've kissed me in the car, or waited till she was sober to do it, if she really wanted to. Unless she wanted an excuse to kiss me?

But why me? No, really, I'm not being modest. Sam could easily find a dozen guys, strangers or even friends, that she could kiss. Former classmates, ex-boyfriends, or guys she'd meet at a less middle-aged party.

Yeah, she loves me, but like a brother. She has never in ten years flirted with me or at all seemed to want to cross the line with me. OK, I was a little kid when we met, and even as a teenager I must've seemed way too young to be a romantic prospect. So was she waiting till I turned 18? I don't buy that.

And the thing is, it's not like I was some sweet, sympathetic prince of a guy last night. I treated her like always. You know, sarcastic and a little rude, the way she treats me. I thought that was what she wanted. Don't tell me that won her over!

So I have to accept that she realized it was a mistake and she's probably just really embarrassed now. And I'll have to either pretend it didn't happen or just say, "That's OK, no big deal."

Except it is a big deal. Because this erection is an echo of the one she gave me last night. And, God, this is embarrassing to admit even to myself, but that wasn't the first one she's given me.

OK, the very first one, and one of the worst, was when I was 13 and she was almost 17 and we were in Jamaica. I was doing a lot of ogling on the beach, including of this tall French girl named Monique, who I later actually got to, yeah, French-kiss. But when Sam came over in a floral one-piece, boom, that did it! And the suit was actually pretty modest, since it had to gain Tony's approval. He couldn't have known the effect it would have on me. I don't think she knew, because I ran out to the water and said, "Oo, look at that kelp! I think I'll collect some!" She just shook her head and said something about me being a geek. I spent the rest of the trip trying not to be around her much, and trying to be around Monique more.

And I knew from my talks with Tony that this was normal. Well, not to be aroused by your almost-sister, but to be easily aroused when you're 13. He'd said it didn't mean you were in love or even that you should do something with that girl. It just meant Nature was getting you ready for someday when you were in love and/or ready to do something with a girl.

I love Sam, maybe not exactly like a sister, but not like a potential girlfriend either. And I definitely wasn't ready to do anything with her last night. I couldn't even kiss her back. I honestly had a moment of thinking it was a dream, because she would never do something like that in real life.

But my penis didn't know that. He woke up right away, even faster than he usually does when a girl kisses me. And let's face it, not many girls initiate it with me. I had to get out of there as soon as possible, before she realized, and there was no ocean handy.

Erections aside, what do you do when your half-drunk stepsister, who's been abandoned by her husband, suddenly kisses you? I mean, you don't start slipping her some tongue, right? I guess I could've been nicer about it. You know, "Sam, I know you're going through a rough time right now, but this isn't what you want, although I am flattered."

Except am I flattered? Like I said, I don't think it was a tribute to my devastating charm and good looks. And it's hard to be mature and sensitive and objective in a situation like that. A situation, I should note, that none of Tony's lectures (certainly none of Mom's!) ever came close to covering.

I could see Grandma having some words of wisdom if she were here. She's probably had weirder kisses than this, not that I want to think about that of course. But she's been around. Unfortunately, she's not around right now, and I am not calling her up in Hollywood to say, "Hey, Grandma, Sam got drunk and kissed me. Do you think that means she likes me or was she just using me?"

I don't feel like a man now, having an almost-divorcée kiss me. I actually feel more like a confused kid than ever.

I guess I should talk to her, but I don't know that it would do any good. I mean, she's got enough problems without me adding to them. And I don't really feel like telling her that I wasn't rejecting her. That I actually felt more than she intended me to feel.

So what am I going to do? Just avoid her for the rest of the summer? Hope that things are back to normal by the time I come home for Christmas?

Well, maybe she will get a job and move out. OK, she's not exactly job-interview material right now, and I haven't helped her spring back from her depression. But she can get over Hank. She can definitely get over me, if that's necessary. I've seen her recover from the depths of despair before. She's just deeper this time.

You know what? I don't want her to go. Not like this. I want us to just be friends. Hang out like we used to. That was one of the things I was looking forward to this summer. Would it be possible for me to just pretend last night didn't happen?

It's funny, when I was a little kid, I felt flattered that this older girl would play with me. Yeah, she had her own friends, but we'd go sledding and build snow-people in the winter, swim and play baseball and basketball in the summer, board games with Grandma year-round. (Usually us against Grandma, and we'd usually win.) As she got older, she had less time for me. Mom and Tony said that was part of growing up, but one day the age difference wouldn't matter as much, and Sam and I would be close to equals. I used to look forward to that.

Who knew how she'd want to play with me once we were both adults? No, I know that isn't fair. It was just a kiss, and she didn't mean to play with either of my heads.

I wish I could go knock on her door and say, "Sam, will you play with me?", and have it be as innocent as it would've been years ago. But we're not kids anymore. And any remaining innocence about our relationship has been shattered.

Still, yeah, I guess I could ask if she wants to hang out. No swimming! I'm not getting anywhere near that woman in a swimsuit. But we could shoot hoops or something. I don't know.

But I've got to wait longer. I can't show up on her doorstep this morning and not talk about last night. One of us is bound to bring it up, or if we don't, it'll be hanging between us, waiting to be said. See, if I wait a few days, it'll be like it never happened.

Who am I kidding? I could avoid her until we go to meet Mom and Tony after their return cruise, and this elephant in the living room will be riding along with us in Tony's Jeep. Probably in the trunk, ha ha!

God, no wonder I don't have a normal love life. I need help, serious help.

And at the moment I need, ahem, a moment by myself. Well, the memory of Monique can keep me company. Or that girl with the seashell bikini. Mmm, nice!

…That's better. And not at all incestuous. I think I will take a non-incestuous shower and then have a non-incestuous breakfast. And maybe I'll shoot non-incestuous hoops by myself. I don't need Sam to have fun. I can have fun by myself!

God, that sounds pathetic. But I do need a shower, and food.

I get the shower but the food has to wait, because the phone rings as I'm passing through the living room. My first thought is it's Sam. Is she calling to apologize, to explain? To ask to kiss me again now that she's sober? I'm afraid to answer it, but if I don't, I'm going to wonder.

So I pick it up on the tenth ring. "Hello?" I say uncertainly.

"Hey, Jonathan, I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time. I wasn't sure about the time difference now that I'm out on the ocean."

"No, Tony, it's fine." Tony. God, it's Tony! What do I do? Calm down, he doesn't know his daughter kissed you and gave you a hard-on. He will never know that, because neither of us is ever going to talk to him about this.

"Oh, I just wondered since you didn't answer right away."

"Well, I just got out of the shower." Not entirely a lie.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's OK. I'm glad you called. How's the cruise? How's Mom?"

"Both great. She's at the salon right now, and then we're playing bingo."  
"Wow."  
"Well, I wanted to do dodgeball, but she didn't want to go right after the salon. Maybe tomorrow."

"Sounds like a wild time."

"Hey, how about you, Mr. Swinging Bachelor? Not throwing too many crazy parties, are you?"

"No, not yet. But you guys haven't been gone even a day yet."

"Right. I guess it just feels longer. But in a good way."

"Yeah."

"Uh, so how's Sam?"

"She's fine. I mean, still kind of down. But not any worse than she was." I hope. If she is, it's not my fault, right?

"Yeah, Angela says it'll take time."

"Yeah."

"Why don't you take her to the movies?"

"The movies?"

"Yeah, something with lots of laughs or lots of explosions."

"Or both?"

"Hey, if you can find something like that, I'll go see it with you when we get back."

"OK. Is there a movie theater on board?"  
"Yeah, they're showing an Ernest P. Worrell marathon this week."

"I'm sorry."

"It's OK. There's lots of other stuff to do."

"Sounds like it." I don't say that he must be bored if he's making a ship-to-shore call already.

"Hey, is Sam around?"

"Uh, no, I think she went to the mall."

"Well, that's a hopeful sign."

"Yeah."

"Listen, I gotta go, but I'll call in a week, this same time, and I'll have your Mom with me, and you can go get Sam, OK?"

"I look forward to it."

"Great! Talk to you then."

"Goodbye, Tony. Have fun."

"You, too, Jonathan."

Oh, God! What am I gonna do? Well, at least I delayed Tony talking to Sam, and maybe me talking to Sam, for another week. But it's still going to be awkward.

I guess this could've been worse. What if I had kissed Sam? There's no way I could've got through that phone call if I had. I felt guilty enough, and I hadn't even done anything. I mean, I can't help it if my hormones went crazy. I showed perfect restraint in that situation. I fought my hormones and won. Somehow though, I don't think Tony, or my mom, would find that comforting.

So do I go tell Sam her dad called? Maybe she actually would've wanted to talk to him. Maybe she'll be annoyed that I didn't go get her. But more likely, she'd be relieved.

OK, back to the plan of not visiting her until a few days have passed. I will have to tell her next time, maybe in advance, since Tony will be expecting her to be here. But I've got a few days' grace period. And for the moment, I just want breakfast.

That's when it hits me. Neither Sam nor I can cook. We'll probably starve by the time our parents get back, and that will solve all our problems. OK, I can at least do toast. And if Sam can brew coffee, she can presumably make oatmeal or something. I'm not going to worry about her more than necessary.


	8. Shipboard Activities

Angela and I have been making love at least twice a day. We haven't done that since Iowa. (Well, what else was she going to do with her excess energy? I mean besides knit, paint, and bowl?) It's great of course, but there's all the rest of the day to fill up. Yeah, there's a lot to do on a cruise, but it seems so mindless, so pointless. You gotta remember, I'm a busy, active guy. I don't think I know how to relax and goof off. Not for hours on end. And I can't cook or clean because someone else does all that.

On our first full day on board, I was already so bored and restless, I called home. I know, crazy, right? It wasn't even that I missed the kids, although I guess I did a little. I didn't even talk to Sam though, since she was at the mall. That worried me a little, but I couldn't exactly complain to Jonathan about Sam spending money, since I was wasting mine on that phone call, and I was glad she was at least out of that damn apartment.

Yeah, Jonathan was home. He's a good, sensible kid. I think it'll do Sam good just hanging out with him. And they're mostly past that stupid sibling rivalry stuff from a few years ago.

Anyway, it's been a week and I'm sort of adapting to leisure. I just try to make it as active leisure as I can. Not only does it fill the time, but it's paying off in bed. Angela says my muscles have more definition now. (Not that she ever complained about my body, but I know I got a little flabby after a couple years of teaching.) And, well, it's improved my stamina, which she really likes.

Obviously, sex is my favorite kind of active leisure. But it is different now because at the back of my mind is always the thought, _This might be the last time you do this where you know you're not putting a baby in her._

Don't get me wrong. She had every right to bring up the subject, even if her timing wasn't great. And it's not like she should've waited another five or ten years. She couldn't have. But I am incredibly conflicted about this.

On the one hand, I've got the whole Pitkin Avenue/Brooklyn/Italian/Catholic thing of, as my friend Dennis put it five years ago, "So what are you waiting for, Micelli? Grab yourself a girl and get to some serious baby-making!" I've been fighting my heritage all these years, and that has taken its toll mentally and physically.

Plus, I want a kid with Angela. I want a baby with Angela. I couldn't love Jonathan more if he were my own son, but it's not the same. I'm sorry. I want to start right from the start. Taking care of Billy together was closer, but we didn't get the cute baby moments with him either.

I want a baby that's a mix of me and Angela, with maybe some of our parents thrown in, too. And I want to see her pregnant, by me. I want to see her with my kid. I want to see me with her kid. I want to see us with our kid.

On the other hand (these are big hands), kids are a lot of work, and it seems unending. Even though Sam is all grown up, I still worry about her as much as I did ten years ago, maybe worry more, since she's going through things that she didn't have to worry about when she thought boys were just for baseball. And, yeah, babies are cute, but you lose your sleep and a little of your sanity over them. Well, that happens again when they're teenagers.

Also, like I said before, Angela is older now. I didn't knock her up in '87. I didn't grab her in '89 and get to some serious baby-making. We didn't even get past necking until two summers ago, in Iowa. And even if I got her pregnant the first night in the castle, she would be almost 45 when the baby is born. If she didn't have a miscarriage or complications.

I know, this is the wrong attitude to have when the woman you love says she wants to have your baby. But I'd be lying if I said I could approach this as casually as I did when Marie said, "Yeah, let's elope and then we won't waste any time starting our life together."

I was 19. Do you think I had any idea of what it meant to start, let alone build, a life together? I just figured, you do what your parents and the neighbors and everyone do, and it all works out. Except when it doesn't.

This is awful, but I had this moment a few weeks ago when I wanted to snap at Sam, "So he left you after a couple years. At least he didn't die on you! At least he didn't leave you to raise a kid on your own, when you didn't even know how you were going to take care of yourself."

But I know, if Sam is a little selfish and a little spoiled, that's partly my fault. I wanted to give her a better life, and I did, but it means that she's got higher expectations. Yeah, in my day we walked to school uphill in the snow and grew up to have our spouses die on us. These kids today.

So do I want to go through all this again? Yeah, I think I do. If Angela does. Because, as much as I worry about the kids, I can't imagine my life without them, and I love the idea of having more. Well, maybe just one more. That's probably all we have time for anyway. Both time in the sense of "years left before Angela's menopause" and time as in "hours of the day."

Hell, if life were like a cruise ship, I could raise a dozen more kids. But when we get back home, I'm going to have to prepare for Fall classes. Actually, I could do that a little on board. There is a library, mostly beach reads, but I did see some volumes of history the other day. Maybe I'll take a look, since it's still an hour till we can call the kids, like I promised Jonathan last week.

I smile when I enter the library, because Angela is sitting reading Jane Austen. And it's not like she hasn't read Jane Austen dozens of times at home. Plus, she always looks cute with glasses, and her hair piled on her head.

She doesn't see me come in so I quietly sneak around till I'm behind her. Then I lean down and whisper, "Hey, Good-looking, how'd you like to show me what's under the covers?"

Without turning around, she says, "Sir, I'll have you know I'm very happily married!"

"So am I. That's what makes us perfect for each other."

"Are you offering me a shipboard romance?"

"Unless you can find something better in the library."

"I don't know. I haven't checked you out yet." She turns and looks right at my crotch, but she does it very discreetly somehow.

Suddenly, I've got my first erection in a library since high school! Not that Kathleen never tried to give me one, but that was the thing. Kathleen always was trying to seduce me, and it was almost a turn-off when she tried to turn me on. Angela can do very little and drive me crazy. If this library weren't so tiny, and if there weren't three old ladies watching us suspiciously, or at least curiously, I would want to have Angela right on the table!

She says, "Very interesting," and then tucks her glasses into her cleavage, gets up, and reshelves her book. I stand here wishing I had on more than a T-shirt and shorts, feeling very exposed. And I can't help it, my eyes follow Angela, especially her bare legs and her cute butt. She's wearing a short summery dress, one I saw her put on a couple hours ago, but now I desperately want to take it off her.

Then she returns and whispers her room number as she passes. I feel like we really are having an extramarital assignation, even though of course it's also my room number. I know we shouldn't be playing like this, especially not when you consider what happened to poor Sam. But I can't help it if my wife knows how to harmlessly spice things up.

I wait only a moment to follow her out of the library, smiling sheepishly at the old ladies. I soon catch up with Angela, and even though it's broad daylight, I grab her and kiss her passionately.

"Sir, not in public!"

"An-gel-a!"

"Come on, Tony," she takes my hand, "our cabin isn't too far off."

We get there as quickly as we can without running. I slam the door behind me and she backs me up against it, pulling down my shorts (bermudas and jockeys) enough to take my hardness out and play with it. Meanwhile, I'm reaching under her skirt and taking down her panties. I finger her until she wraps her legs around my hips and I turn so that she's the one leaning against the door. I give her fast, deep strokes, needing her so badly. She clings to me with her arms and legs, needing me just as much.

It's rare that we do it like this. Standing and/or with our clothes partly on. And we just had sex three hours ago! Not to mention all the sex we've had in the past week. But it's like we've been blindsided by lust, like we used to be sometimes in the past, like when we were reading D. H. Lawrence together. But back then, we couldn't do anything about it, or at least I thought so at the time. Now we very emphatically can do something about it, and we very emphatically are.

She kisses me as she comes. I can taste the change in her mouth. I can't explain it, since it's very subtle. And it's something I think I could only discover through time and intimacy. She's told me that my tongue gets colder, which makes sense because of all the blood that's rushed downward.

It's like my heart is pumping my blood but my penis is pumping my essence, giving it to her again and again. Suddenly, I see a connection between sex and life I never did before, and it makes perfect sense that we should make a baby together. Or maybe I'm just light-headed from vertical sex. I feel even higher when I come.

She waits till I carry her over to the bed for some nice post-coital snuggling and maybe napping to say, "Weren't we supposed to call the kids today?"

"Oh, right." How stupid was that to make plans a week ahead of time? It would've been better to just call as a surprise again. But then I might've missed Sam again, or even both kids.

"Did you give an exact time?"

"Well, I think I said the same time. Or around the same time."

"Oh. Do you think we could say we got confused by the time difference because we're on a ship?"

"Yeah, they might buy that. But I don't want them waiting by the phone all day."

"Just one more half hour then."

"Oh, what do you want to do for half an hour?"

"Well, I've thought of a way to warm up your tongue."

I grin and decide that the kids can definitely wait a little longer.


	9. Cooties

I stare at Jonathan. "My dad and Angela are calling in half an hour, and you've known about this for a week, and you're only telling me now?"

"Well, I haven't exactly run into you lately."

I blush. He's right. And that's my fault. I've been avoiding him, he's been avoiding me, and it's all because I kissed him.

I assume. I mean, for all I know he's been playing video games for a week. I have been practicing the little bit of Yoga I remember Jesse teaching me. OK, and crying at soap operas. And ripping up every picture of and letter from Hank that I can find. These have all been cleansing, healing activities. This week I hope to work my way up to shopping. Maybe not the mall but at least the supermarket. My cooking skills are limited and I've made everything in the kitchen that I can.

"I'm sorry," I blurt out.

Now he blushes. "We can talk about that later. If you want to talk about it."

"OK." I don't know if I do. Does he want to talk about it? Even acknowledging that there's something to talk about isn't easy for us, and we've had a week to think about it. In fact, the fact that my kissing him scared him away for a week just makes me feel worse about the whole thing. But I sort of understand because of how I couldn't face him either.

Then I remember I'm mad at him. "You couldn't even slip a note under my door? You've had a whole week to prepare for this call, but you just throw it at me now?"

He loses his temper a little. "OK, first of all, I had to deal with the first phone call completely unprepared, the morning after you—you did what you did! A call from your father, Sam. Your father who worries about you and who would be very unhappy if he knew. The man who asked me to look out for you."

"He did?"

"Yeah, and so did my mom. Pretty stupid, huh? Because you have never given a damn what I think!"

"I have," I say quietly. I don't add, "Especially this past week," but I'm thinking it.

"Oh," is all he says, his anger suddenly gone.

"I'm sorry. I know you're doing the best you can in, in weird circumstances."

He snorts. "Yeah, very weird."

"Look, it's just, well, I can't be all upbeat and perky when we talk to them. I can't say I've pulled myself and my life back together and I've got six interviews this week."

"They don't expect that. They just don't want to hear that you've gotten worse since they left."

"You think I've gotten worse?"

"I don't know." He doesn't meet my eyes.

"Jonathan, that night aside, I really have been trying. OK, I'm not making much progress, but I don't think I'm regressing."

"Hey, do you want to go to the movies later?"

"The movies? Not really. But you want to go grocery shopping?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously. I'm running low on supplies, being holed up like this, without Dad to do the shopping for me, and I bet you are, too."

"Well, yeah. I mean, I've gone out for fast food a few times, but yeah."

"OK, let me take a shower, put on something less ratty, and I'll come over in half an hour."

"Sam, they can't see you over the phone."

"Yeah, but they'll hear it in my voice. And consider it a baby step towards going on an interview in the next couple weeks."

He smiles. "OK. See you in half an hour."

I want to give him a hug, but I can't do that anymore. Or at least not till we talk things out. And I think we do need to talk things out. I want his friendship back. I've missed him, even though he's only been across the driveway.

After he leaves, I sigh and then go take a shower. It's not that I haven't been showering—I haven't completely let myself go—but for the first time in weeks, this actually feels invigorating. I even put on a red t-shirt, which is one of my power colors. OK, my cut-offs are ratty, but fashionably ratty. I almost put on my make-up but stop myself. Jonathan would think it was for him. Well, I'll put some on before we go grocery shopping. No need for the whole neighborhood to see me falling apart.

I do some centered breathing, telling myself that my family wants my happiness, but they accept my sadness. That helps a little.

Plus, I have missed Dad and Angela. I mean, part of me is glad they're gone, so that they can't see me like this anymore. But I wish I weren't like this and everything could go back the way it was. Maybe back to the days before I met Hank. I don't know. It was nice when it was just the five of us and life seemed relatively simple.

I go over to the main house and Jonathan's sitting on the couch, watching some nature program. I smile and almost sit next to him, but then I remember I can't yet. So I sit in a chair.

"So you're still into all this nature stuff?"

"Well, yeah."

"Have you thought about doing it for a living?"

"What, like my dad?"

"No, it wouldn't necessarily have to be documentaries. You could be a zoologist or something."

"Sam, I'm not King of the Reptiles anymore."

"I'm sorry."  
"No, it's OK."

"So what do you want to do with your life?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. I also used to be really into money, finance, when I was a little kid."

I smile. "I remember." He used to loan me money out of his piggy bank, at reasonable rates.

"Now, I don't know. I guess I could be a Business major."

I think of how I realized that Music Management was right for me. "Jonathan, it should be something you're passionate about."

"Well, maybe I haven't found my passion yet." Then he blushes, as if he's afraid I'll take that the wrong way, which makes me blush, too.

I hate this, that we can't even have a normal conversation anymore. "Jonathan, about the other night—"

"Sam, I'm not talking to you about that right before our parents call."

I wince. That makes it sound even more incestuous, like we have parents in common, rather than him meaning my dad and his mom. But he's right about this not being a good time to talk about it.

The thing is, the minutes pass and the phone doesn't ring.

"Are you sure Dad said this day and time?"

"Yeah, but maybe he forgot, or got the times mixed up with traveling."

"Oh. Maybe I should go."

"No, wait a little longer, just in case."

"OK."

Then the nature documentary starts talking about "mating rituals"! He quickly hits the remote and switches over to _Wall Street Week._

"Jonathan, I need to talk to you."

He hesitates and then turns the TV off. "OK."

"You've probably been wondering why I kissed you."  
"Well, clearly you found me irresistible."

"Yeah, right."

"Thanks, Sam."

"No, I'm sorry. I don't mean that the way it sounds. It's just, well, I don't know why I did it."

"Thanks for clearing that up."

"No, I mean, I sort of know why I did, the way I've been feeling lately, especially that night. And you were there and I needed someone. And it came out in the form of a kiss."

"Sam, if you needed someone, why were you pushing us all away before that? Telling me and the family that you were fine, when you so obviously weren't?"

"Jonathan, I don't like needing people."

"Everybody needs people."

"I know, but I don't like it. Because you need someone and then they leave."

"Not always."

"Well, in my case they do."

"I haven't gone anywhere. You could've cried in front of me. I probably wouldn't have known what to say, but I'd have listened."

"I know, but that's not who we are."

"Well, we're not people who kiss each other when we're lonely either."

"I know. It's just, I forgot that for a moment. For a moment, I saw you as a guy."

"I am a guy."  
"You know what I mean, a non-related guy."

"We're not related. Just through marriage."

"Well, you sure freaked out like we're related."

"I didn't freak out."

"That's right. You just froze up."

"How did you expect me to react, Sam?"

"I wasn't thinking it through. It wasn't like I thought, 'Oo, I bet Jonathan would love me to kiss him!' "

He turns the TV back on. "Look, let's forget this happened. We don't have to talk about it."

"That doesn't work, Jonathan. We know it happened. And I'm tired of denying what I'm feeling!"

Still looking at the television instead of me, he says, "What are you feeling?"

"Confused. Guilty. Sad."

"Why sad?"

"Because, even though you can be really annoying, you are one of my best friends and I don't want you to lose you through one moment of selfish stupidity."

"If I were going to be scared off by your selfish stupidity, I would've stopped being your friend when you started junior high."

I laugh. "You jerk!"

"Airhead!"

"Dweeb!"

"Slut!"

I blink back sudden tears. "You always take it too far, don't you?"

"Jeez, you're right, I do." He turns off the TV and looks at me. "Sam, I don't think you're a slut."

"I kissed my stepbrother, my younger by almost four years stepbrother. That would fit a lot of people's definitions of 'slut.' "

"Well, if that makes you a slut, what does that make me?"

"What?" I stare at him. What's he talking about? He's about as far from a man-slut as I can imagine. He's not the type of guy who kisses people he shouldn't. He hardly even kisses people he should. Unless there's some secret side of him I don't know about. After all, who knows what he does when he's away at college?

Before I can make him explain, the phone rings. Of course.

"Do you think it's them?" he asks.

"Of course it is," I say. That's how my life works. Plus they were supposed to call this morning.

He glances over his shoulder at the phone, like he's afraid to answer. Well, if there's one thing I've never been scared of, it's the telephone. So I shake my head and go over to pick up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sweetheart!"

"Hi, Dad."

"Is Jonathan there?"  
"Yeah, he's right here." I hold out the receiver so Jonathan can take it.

He hesitates but then he gets up and goes in the kitchen. After a moment, I hear, "Hey, Tony! Is Mom there?"

Oh, I get it. Jonathan was afraid to have us share the receiver, like Mom and Tony used to do when we were away and called home together. I used to love that, picturing them being parental together, and incidentally having their heads close together, at a time when it was hard for them to even kiss. I could almost visualize how they looked, and I loved how their voices blended together, especially on the "We love you two! We miss you!" It let me pretend, as I sometimes did, even as a teenager, that I was normal, with two living parents like everyone else.

Meanwhile, Jonathan and I would be pushing and shoving for control of the receiver at our end. I always won because I was older, bigger, and tougher, although sometimes I'd remember that he was a little kid and I should let him have a turn. By the time I was just older, and he was as big and tough as I was, if not more, he was too old to fight with girls. Besides, by then we had moved on to verbal warfare. The tongue is mightier than the sword.

Um, I should probably rephrase that. No wonder he doesn't want to share the phone with me. It's not just because of cooties anymore.


	10. Bearings

Tony waves me over. He's reached the kids. When he first told me about calling the house on our very first morning on board, I thought he was crazy. There had hardly been enough time to miss them, or for anything to have changed. But then a couple days later I found myself calling my agency, just to check in. That's my other "baby," and I do feel guilty being away.

Also, it's strange on the ship. No pun intended, but it's hard to find my bearings. I've never been disconnected from the land like this, not for so long. You always hear that water covers most of the Earth's surface, but you don't believe it when you spend most of your life on land, with occasional trips into the air. And those are over in a matter of hours, while this has been days.

It really is strange to be cut off not just from land, but from everything that's familiar. Except Tony of course. We spend part of each day doing our own thing, but it's always wonderful when we reunite, like finding a piece of home in a foreign land.

And, yes, it usually leads to sex. Or at least making out. It's not that we can't keep our hands off each other, but there really isn't any reason to keep them off each other.

I was afraid at first that I had spoiled the mood by introducing the "baby topic," but we seem to have worked through that. Of course, I haven't yet gone off the Pill, so that may change things again when I do. Not to mention that we really will be on our own then.

It's almost a shock to hear the kids' voices again, even though it hasn't been that long. I can visualize them in our home, everything just the way we left it, the way it's been for years. I have to remind myself that Jonathan has the summer off from MIT, and Sam is processing the end of her marriage.

She sounds like she's OK. Clearly, I can't ask how she's really feeling, not over the phone and not with Tony and Jonathan listening. It's not a good time for girl-talk, and I don't know if she's ready to open up to me about it yet. Maybe when we return.

I will admit I am curious about something, but it's not a question that Sam can answer. Mother might be able to get the answer out of Hank, if she hasn't already. But I don't want to call her up in Hollywood and ask her.

I want to know, what is going on with him filing for divorce? Is he waiting for Sam to do it? If so, I think he'll be waiting a very long time. She is still a good Catholic girl in some ways. And Tony, despite his lapses, did not like the idea of having to divorce me a few years ago. (It wasn't even that he didn't want to end the marriage. He agreed with me then that it wasn't how he wanted to be married, by accident. He just didn't approve of divorce.)

Sam definitely wants to be married to Hank, or at least she did before this happened. She's also a romantic and she's learning the bitter lesson that I learned over ten years ago, that romantic ideals aren't enough to make a happy marriage. She's probably still waiting for things to work out, for Hank to leave his girlfriend and take Sam back. But I don't know if I would let him do that. I'd like to think she has more pride. Yes, I did take Michael back, briefly, but he hadn't cheated on me. And we soon found out that we still had the same issues as before.

If Hank won't file for divorce, and Sam won't either (although she certainly has grounds), then I could see this dragging on for months, maybe even years. I don't want Sam to live in the kind of limbo I did. I really will need to sit down and talk to her about this when we return. I hope by then she'll be ready to talk, and to listen.

While these thoughts have been going through my head, we've all been having a four-sided conversation, although my contribution has been minimal. I try to focus, remembering that this may be the last time we can talk to the kids for awhile.

"You guys eating all right?" Tony of course. Sometimes I tease that if he ever gets another tattoo, it should say, "Mangia!"

"Yeah, I guess." Jonathan of course, typical teenage boy. If he eats anything, then it's all right.

"We're going grocery shopping later," Sam says.

"You got enough money? Do you want me to wire you some?"

"No, Dad."

"You sure? Jonathan said you went to the mall last week."

"You said that, did you?"

"Um, sorry."

"Hey, don't be mad at him, I took it as a sign of mental health."

"I guess. I, I just window-shopped."

"That can be fun," I chime in.

"But who wants all those windows?"

We groan at Jonathan's joke.

"I think we can rule out stand-up comedy as your future career."

"Oh, Sweetie, have you been giving some thought to your career plans?"

"No, Sam and I were just talking."

Tony and I look at each other. That's a hopeful sign, that Sam was able to have a serious conversation about something unrelated to Hank. And maybe she's making some progress towards finding a job herself.

"So, um, Sam, anything new?"

I hit Tony's arm. He shouldn't just ask straight out like that!

"Like what, Dad?"

"Oh, any prospects?"

"Um, prospects?"

"Yeah, any record companies you're thinking of applying to?"

I know I should stop Tony, but I'm curious, too.

"I'm, I'm still looking."  
"OK, yeah, no rush."

"You know you're welcome to stay as long as you need to," I blurt out.

"Yeah, even if you get a job in the big city, you could commute."

"Yes, you could take the train with me and Mother. It'll be fun!"

"Well, we'll see." She doesn't sound terribly enthusiastic. I hope she doesn't feel like we're pressuring her. We're just trying to be supportive.

"Hey," Jonathan says, "this call must be costing you guys a fortune."

"Yeah, but you're both worth it."

"We'll call again from Rome. A week from yesterday," I say, deciding as I say it.  
"OK," they both say.

"Does this time work for you? Is it too early there?"

"It's fine, Dad."

"Yeah, it works for me."

"It'll be 2 p.m. in Rome, so that should work for us."

"Uh, sorry we were late today. I got confused about the time difference."

"Yes," I say quickly, "it's harder to keep track at sea than on land."

"It's OK."

"Yeah, we were hanging out anyway," Jonathan says.

Tony and I look at each other again. That's a good sign, too. And they're buying groceries together. I'm so glad their days of bickering and squabbling are over! They've really grown up.

Still, there is a part of me that misses even the adolescent turmoil. I definitely miss the very early days, when we were first forming a family, without knowing it. How nice it would be to start from the beginning, raise a child with Tony from birth onwards. Of course, by the time our child would be Sam's age now, I'll have reached retirement age!

"We love you two! We miss you!" Tony and I say in sync, just like we used to.

"We miss you, too," Jonathan says with surprising sincerity.

"We love you," Sam says quietly.

And then everyone says goodbye and we hang up. I feel a strange sort of let-down, although nothing bad happened during the call. Maybe it just feels strange to be connected to someone far away and then have to disconnect.

Tony seems to understand what I'm feeling, because he kisses my cheek and hugs me. We're still standing close. I remember sharing a receiver when the kids had a field trip to Washington, and Tony and I were about to have dates with other people (Geoffrey and Tanya). I'd felt connected to him, too, sharing our kids with him. And then I remembered, we weren't a couple. I'm so glad that time is over, no matter how nostalgic I may get over our children's childhood.

We thank the shipboard operator and go back up on deck. We're not ready to return to our cabin, not yet.

We stroll hand in hand, looking out at that seemingly endless ocean. It's hard to believe that we're at the midpoint of our journey. In some ways it seems like we'll never land.

Then he surprises me by saying, "Should we have told them?"

"Told them what?"

"About the maybe baby."

I shake my head. "It's too soon. And I don't think Sam wants to hear about something like that when her husband left her just a few weeks ago."

"Yeah. But if it happens, I think she'll be happy for us."

"I hope so. And Jonathan, too, of course."

"Yeah."

"But let's not say anything unless I do get pregnant. They don't need to know that we're trying."

"OK. Angela, where are we going to put a nursery?"

"Well, it depends on when it happens, if it does."

"Yeah. I guess we could use Billy's room. That way the kids and Mona don't have to give up their rooms."

"Right. Oh, Tony, I just had a thought."

"What?"

"Do you think Mother will want her old place when she returns? After all, Hank is gone."

"I don't know. But Mona can be surprisingly considerate when she wants to be."

"True."

"Anyway, we can deal with all this when we get back."  
"You're the one who brought up the nursery."

"I was just wondering. I mean, it's going to change our lives in a lot of ways, if it happens."

"I know. It's a big step."

"Yeah."  
"Tony, if you don't want a baby, just say so. I'll be disappointed, but I'll understand."

He stops strolling, so I have to. Then he kisses me tenderly. "I want a baby with you, Angela. But that doesn't mean I think it's going to be easy."

"I never said it would be. And in case you haven't realized, it's going to change my life more than yours."

"It'll change your body more. It won't change your life more."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I might want to be a stay-at-home dad."

"Tony, you don't have to make that kind of sacrifice."

"Sacrifice? You kiddin' me? Don't you remember what it was like with Baby Clint? I loved that!"

"But you were a housekeeper then, not a professor."

"I think Ridgemont would work with me, give me a schedule that would let me spend time with our child. Evening classes or something."

"I want to help. It won't all be you. It's my child, too!"

I'm serious, but he laughs, so then I do. Does any other couple in the world have conversations like ours?

"OK, Angela, maybe we don't have to figure out everything about the baby before we make him or her."

"No, not everything." I lean close, nuzzle his neck, and whisper, "Do you want to go practice everything-but-conception?"

He holds me close, close enough that he doesn't have to answer with words. After our earlier encounter, I put fresh panties on, but I'm still wearing that short dress. I'm not even sure if we'll make it back to our cabin this time.


	11. Frog Livers

"Do you want me to help you carry your groceries upstairs?" I ask, figuring it's the chivalrous thing to do, although I feel funny about going back to the scene of the kiss. When I went to tell her about the call, I just stood in her doorway. It felt safer.

"Can I just put some stuff in your fridge for the moment?"

"Yeah, of course." I almost say, "It's your fridge as much as mine," but that hasn't been true since she moved out to the dorms, four years ago.

She quickly puts away anything that might spoil, leaving the boxed and canned stuff in the bags. Then she says, "Jonathan, I think there's still some stuff we need to talk about."

"Uh, OK." I sit at the kitchen table, trying to prepare myself for the continuation of our very awkward conversation before the phone call.

She almost sits down next to me and then seems to remember that we shouldn't sit that close. She heads into the living room and when I follow I see that she's taken the closest chair. I take the furthest one, so that the couch is empty between us.

Instead of leading into it, she just asks, "Jonathan, why did you call yourself a slut?"

Oh God, here we go. "I didn't. I said some people might think I'm a slut."  
"But you're a virgin, aren't you?"  
I actually blush, yeah, virginally. "Well, yeah."

"Are you just technically one?"  
"Sam, I am a virgin in every physical aspect." I'm not sure about mentally.

"OK, College Boy, what does that mean?"

"Well, Ex-College Girl, if you really want to know—" I break off, mid-sarcasm. "Sam, please promise me you won't hate me for what I'm about to say."

"Can I get mad at you?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

"OK, who did you kill?"

I give her a pity laugh.

"What?"

I sigh and then look down at my hands. "I have thoughts sometimes."

"Don't give me straight lines like that."

"Come on."

"Sorry."

"I have disturbing thoughts sometimes."

"Oh? About killing people?"

"Of course not! About, about sex."

She laughs. "Jonathan, you're an 18-year-old guy. That's normal."

"This isn't."  
"Oh, you mean really twisted, kinky stuff?"

"Um, sort of."

"What do you want to do? Um, if it's not too disgusting. If it is, don't tell me."

"It's not what, it's who."

"Oh. Um, like people it would be illegal to be with?"

I wish she wouldn't keep asking me questions, especially ones that make me sound like some kind of psycho. But I don't know how to stop her, and I know I'm going to tell her the whole thing if she keeps going.

"No. Not illegal. Maybe immoral. Depending."

"Depending? Who are these people?"

"There's just one. I mean one that I shouldn't be thinking about. She's a girl, over the age of consent. And it's not that I want to have sex with her, I mean not exactly, but sometimes I find myself thinking things about her when I shouldn't."

"Oh. Well, that's not so bad. I mean, you can't help what you think. And it doesn't matter, as long as you don't act on it."

"I guess."  
"Who is she? Like a friend's girlfriend or something?"

"It doesn't matter. The point is, I don't want you beating yourself up for kissing me. When I've wanted to do more than that with someone who's just as inappropriate for me as I am for you."

It takes her awhile to process that, and then she whispers, "It's me. Shit, Jonathan, it's me, isn't it?"

I nod but still can't meet her eyes.

"Oh, holy shit, what have I done?"

"No, Sam, it's not your fault. This started years ago."

"But, shit, Jonathan, if I had known that before I kissed you—"

"What difference would it make? And can you please stop swearing?"

"Oh, sorry. I wouldn't want to corrupt you, would I?"

I glare at her, which means I have to look at her, have to see the mixture of shock and sarcasm on her face. "I knew I shouldn't have told you."

"No, it's my fault for asking, although I was not expecting that."

"I know." I stop glaring, feeling too guilty.

"Jonathan, have you been lusting after me all this time?"

"Please don't put it that way."

"OK, have you had a crush on me all these years?"

"Sort of."  
"Sort of? What does that mean?"

"Well, before puberty, I looked up to you, admired you. After puberty, um."

"Oh. So then the crush started?"

"It's not really a crush."

"Are you, are you in love with me?"

"Of course not!"

"You don't have to be so horrified by the idea. I'm not that awful, am I?"

"No, you're great, Sam. And you know you're smart and funny and brave and beautiful."

"I do? I am?"

"OK, maybe you didn't know that."

"I haven't felt anything like that lately."

"Why? Because some loser who plays with dolls has no taste?"

She looks like part of her wants to defend Hank, who she was in love with after all, maybe still is in love with. But she ends up laughing.

I smile a little. "Sam, he was an idiot to leave you. And if you weren't my stepsister, well, maybe I would have a crush on you."

"But I am."  
"Right."

"So what do you feel about me?"

I can feel myself really blushing now. "You turn me on."

"WHAT?"

"It's not your fault. You don't try to be sexy but you really are. And I, um, respond to that sometimes."

"You do?"

"Well, yeah."

She shakes her head. "Jonathan, I'm not buying this. If you've been walking around with hard-ons for the last however many years—"

"Five."

"Five. Yeah, five years of stiffies, and I don't even notice? Dad, the overprotective Italian father, doesn't notice? I can see Angela missing it, but Dad?"

"It's not like I've been in a constant state of arousal. And it's mostly, um, like when I wake up in the morning. Or other times I'm alone. Or I've seen you in a more revealing than average outfit."

"Jamaica!" she whispers hoarsely. "The kelp!"

"Um, yeah, the kelp."

"You little geek!"

"You tease!"

"Yeah, I put the CT into Connecticut."

I burst out laughing. "That's great!"

She shakes her head. "That's what Todd told me once, when I didn't want him feeling me up."

"Sweet guy."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugs. "I'm sorry I've been so devastatingly sexy."

"Don't flatter yourself too much. There have been times when I've been aroused by wallpaper."

"Yeah, but wallpaper never kissed you."

"No. And I've never had to feel guilty talking to wallpaper's father."

"Yeah."  
"So how do you feel about me now? Are you disgusted?"

"No more than usual."

"Thanks."  
"Oh, come on, Jonathan, you once put frog livers in the fridge!"

"I labeled them!"

"Yeah, like I was reading labels when I wanted a midnight snack."

"You didn't really eat them, did you?"

"No, but it was close." She looks at me more carefully. "For a week, I thought me kissing you appealed to you as much as frog livers appealed to me. But that's not true, is it?"

"Well, no."  
"So why didn't you kiss back?"

"Because you're my stepsister and I've known you over half my life!"

"Yeah, but you didn't let yourself forget that for even a moment? Hell, I forgot it, and I'm not even attracted to you."

"Was it like eating frog livers?"

"No, it was—" Now she blushes. "It was nice. Not the you-not-kissing-back part of course. That killed my buzz."

I suddenly have to cross my legs. "I wish it had killed mine."

"Is that why you left so suddenly?"

"Well, yeah, plus it was just really awkward anyway."

"Yeah. Unlike this conversation."

"Yeah. So you're not at all attracted to me?" I may as well know the truth.

"Jonathan, you're my stepbrother!"

I laugh. She grimaces.

"So you would've kissed Philly or Tiny like that if I hadn't literally carried you out of the apartment building?"

"I've been meaning to ask, how did you do that? When the elevator was broken like usual."

"Um, well, Mrs. Rossini helped."  
"Oh, she is pretty buff. It figures a skinny geek like you couldn't do it on his own."

"It was five flights of stairs! And you weigh a ton!"

She frowns. "I know. I've been pigging out since Hank left."

"I'm sorry, Sam. You were really light, and you're not fat."

"I'm not?"

"Are you kidding? You have the perfect figure!"

"I do?"

"Jesus, Sam, are you blind?"

"Well, I guess I'm OK-looking."  
"Shut up, just shut up. I know what you're doing."

"What?" she asks innocently.

"You're trying to get me to compliment you a bunch, to boost your ego. Like it's not enough that I've basically told you that you've had far more control over my, my—"

"Your what?" she teases.

"My libido." (I'm not going to let her trick me into saying it.) "Far more control than you should have, or actually want to have."

"You've got an erection right now, haven't you? My cut-offs are getting to you, right?"

"You are pure evil." I'm not entirely joking.

"And you can't storm out of here because you can't even stand up."

"You are a sad, pathetic woman who has to play mind games with your stepbrother because your husband has abandoned you and I'm the only one who will put up with your crap, since I feel sorry for you."

"And since I'm a sexy, sad, pathetic woman."

"Shut up."  
"No, you shut up."

It is at this height of probably our weirdest argument ever that the doorbell rings.

"Do you want to get that?" she teases.

"Shut up."

She gets to her feet, walks over to my chair, leans over me, and whispers, "No, you shut up."

I try to slap her as she moves away and it ends up being a little spank.

"Pervert."

I blush again and can't reply. She keeps moving towards the door. I have this sudden thought that it'll be Hank, with flowers and a heartfelt apology. I don't know if I'd be relieved or not if he took her back now. But I'd just as soon not be trapped in the room by my erection.

It's not Hank. It's a state marshal. "Are you Samantha Marie Micelli-Thomopolous?"

"Uh, yes." She looks guilty, like she thinks she's going to be arrested for corrupting a minor, even though I'm of age now.

He holds out an envelope and she takes it automatically. "I'm serving you with divorce papers on behalf of Henry Joseph Thomopolous." It takes me a moment to realize he means Hank, because even the Thomopolouses never call him Henry.

"Uh, thank you," she says, because we were raised to be polite to strangers, especially ones in uniform.

He touches the brim of his cap. "Have a good day, Ma'am," he says, nods, and leaves. I'd think I just imagined this except that she's still holding the envelope.

She closes the door and then just stands there in disbelief, rooted to the spot.

But I can finally move again, so I go to her. "Oh, wow, Sam, I'm sorry!"

I don't believe this, she looks at my crotch!

I roll my eyes. "Having a state marshal at the front door can kill any boner."

She looks like she's going to laugh but then she starts crying, hard.

I hesitate and then put my arms around her. "Is this OK? Or should I leave you alone?"

Instead of answering in words, she hugs me tight, crushing the envelope. She needs me to hold her right now, and I'm not going to worry about what it might mean beyond comfort.


	12. Americani

The last few days on the ship, we tried to do more of the romantic things that they show you in brochures, and a little less of the making out in hallways while having trouble waiting till we got to our cabin. We watched sunrises and sunsets (OK, one sunrise, since Angela is much less of a morning person than I am), we dined and danced, we sang karaoke, we played mini-golf on deck (she won, but it always seemed windier on my shots), and we swam in the pool. (OK, the first time poolside, I had to rush Angela back to our cabin, because she had on a high-cut swimsuit that made her legs seem even longer. But the next couple times, we were able to sunbathe and splash each other like in the brochure.)

And we watched the marathon in the theater.

"Dad, you sat there through _Ernest Scared Stupid_?" Sam says in disbelief during our call collect from Rome. (Angela made arrangements with the phone company, electric, etc., to delay billing till we return, so Jonathan won't have to worry about all that. It's apparently good to be a babe with deep pockets and excellent credit.) "And all the other ones?"

"No, Samantha, they switched the line-up this week."

"It was romance movies!" Angela gushes. She'd been in heaven of course.

"I think I'd rather watch Ernest," Jonathan says, like he's nine.

"No, these were all classics," I say. "_It Happened One Night, Gone With the Wind, African Queen, Barefoot in the Park, The Way—"_

"_We Were," _the kids finish, knowing that's my and Angela's favorite "couple" movie.

"It's weird how romances, especially the comedies, always seem to be about 'opposites attract,' " Jonathan observes.

"Well," says Angela, the romance and media expert, "that's because movies need conflict. Also, everyone wants to see how the couple are drawn together and then divided by their differences, and how they can resolve them, if they do."

"What about _His Girl Friday_?" I point out. "Rosalind Russell gives up on the boring insurance agent fiancé and goes back to her ex-husband Cary Grant, who's just like her."

"I wouldn't say he's just like her," Angela begins.

"Hank served the divorce papers on me," Sam suddenly blurts out.

"Oh, Sweetheart!" I cry. I feel terrible that we've been talking about movies while she's going through this. I mean, yeah, I kind of thought it would happen, when she first told me he'd left her, but I guess in the back of my mind I thought they might work things out. I feel bad as a Catholic and as a concerned father.

"How are you feeling?" Angela asks.

"OK, I guess. I mean, it's not any worse than him leaving me, and it's been a few days since it happened."

"Are you going to contest it?"

Angela looks at me and shakes her head.

"I don't know, Dad. I mean, if he doesn't want me, why should I fight for him?"

I think of how Angela didn't fight for me when I cheated on her with Kathleen. But that was different, wasn't it? I mean, we didn't have a marriage to preserve. (Well, not that we knew of, thank you, Moonlight Motel.)

"Well, you don't have to decide anything yet. Connecticut has a 30-day 'cooling-off' period before a divorce can move forward." Angela would know, wouldn't she? The three-time divorcée, although only one of her previous weddings was performed in Connecticut.

"How long does it take after that?" Jonathan asks. He's probably wondering how long he's got to deal with Sam in this phase, poor kid. Well, poor kids, both of them.

"Anywhere from three months to a year. It was more complicated for me and your father, because we had more assets."

"Including me?"

She smiles. "You were our biggest asset."

"Don't say it, Sam," Jonathan warns her. I guess they still tease each other, even though they seem to be getting along well in our absence.

"What?" she asks innocently.

I decide to ignore this, because there are bigger issues here. "Sweetheart, is that what you want, to be divorced?"

"I don't know what I want anymore. I mean, I wanted to be married to Hank till death did us part, with kids and grandkids and all that. But since I can't have that, I don't know."

"Well, don't do anything drastic till you're sure."

"Tony, what do you want her to do? Live in limbo till Hank gets tired of his new girlfriend? Take back a man who cheated on her?"

"Well, maybe Hank is sorry for what happened. We don't know what he's going through right now."

I hear a click and think we've been disconnected from the kids, but then Jonathan says, "Thanks, Guys. Sam just ran out of the house crying."

"Oh, that poor girl! Jonathan, tell her I didn't mean to be insensitive."

"Yeah, and tell her that of course I'm on her side. Hank has no excuse for what he did and if I ever see him again, he'll be sorry."

"Anything else?" he asks irritably.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry. This is hard for you, too. And I'm sorry you're left to deal with all of it on your own."

"It's OK. I don't have anything else to do with my summer."

"You're a good man, Pal-o-Mine."

"Thanks, Tony," he says quietly.

"We should go," Angela says. She's right. Our train will be boarding soon, and this call isn't any cheaper than the ship-to-shores.

"OK. Have fun storming the castle!"

It takes us a moment to get it and then we do, both of us laughing. I remember seeing _Princess Bride_ as a family, even Mona went, and we all loved it.

"We love you two! We miss you!" Angela and I say out of habit, as if Sam can still hear us. Well, Jonathan can pass it along to her.

After we say goodbye and hang up, Angela and I look at each other and both say sorry. My sorry is partly about Kathleen, although I don't say that of course. She kisses me as if she understands.

I kiss her back and for about a minute we forget that we're inside a phone booth, which is inside an Italian train station. Then someone knocks on the glass. We stop kissing, smile at each other, and squeeze back out of the booth.

"Mi scusi," I tell the guy, who shakes his head and mutters, "Americani."

"Is my accent that bad?" I whisper to Angela as we get in line to board.

"You're asking me? The WASP?"

I chuckle and kiss her cheek. My accent was good enough to get by before, but then I had Aunt Rosa and everybody to translate. At least I'm more Italian than Angela, and it's always nice to know something she doesn't. And I did take a class in Italian my senior year, so that should help.

I help her with boarding and finding our seats. It's a two-hour ride to Naples, so no need for a sleeper car. (And, yeah, I would not just lie there being tormented by her sexy scent this time. I would definitely get her heart pounding as fast as mine.)

The scenery is beautiful. I haven't been to this part of Italy in a long time. And although Angela has traveled to Italy before, this is her first time not going on business, the winery trip aside. She's able to savor things, relax. And she's tanner than when we left New York, making me think of how she gradually loosened up and blossomed in Mexico. This time, we know that there's no risk of her returning and being fired. Her current employer is a lot more understanding than Wallace &amp; McQuade.

We start out going through rolling hills and fertile green fields. Fairfield obviously is pretty rural (fair field), but nothing like this. Even Iowa didn't give this sense of the land being ancient. I think of how my people came from land like this and I actually tear up. Angela squeezes my hand as if she understands.

At Gaeta, we start hugging the coast. Angela gasps at the blue of the ocean. "It's not like this anywhere else, is it?"

I don't know. I haven't traveled the world as much as she has. But I murmur, "Mia cara, è blu italiani," which obviously needs no translation.

"Everything sounds so beautiful in Italian."

"Sei ancora più bella in Italia," I tell her, because she is. She is always beautiful, but even more in the Italian sun that shines through the windows. Her hair looks golden. "I tuoi capelli è d'oro."

She kisses me, as if she understands the sentiment if not the exact meaning. "I love you, Tony."

"Ti amo, Angela."  
"Ti amo molto, Tony." I blink in surprise. She laughs. "That's an easy one."

I kiss her and for the next hour I hold her as close as the tracks hug the coast. And, no, I don't know how to say that in Italian.


	13. Macaroni and Carrots

I haven't really cried that much since the divorce papers came. Yeah, I did in that moment, hating myself for my weakness, hating to have to turn to Jonathan after I had teased him in so many senses. He was sweet though. He held me as I sobbed against him, even though he knew it might make him hard again. (It didn't. Well, the sobbing wasn't much of a turn-on, I suppose, especially when my nose started running.)

He didn't say anything brilliant or all that comforting. He didn't say much beyond, "I know this sucks," and "Oo, gross!" But he was there. And I don't know, what is there to say? I don't know what I would say to a friend who was going through this.

I like that about Jonathan. I remember that my junior high school boyfriends, Chad and Todd, were always worrying about looking cool. They never knew how to just relax and sound like they weren't giving a girl a line.

Jesse was different. He would just say what he was thinking, not worrying if it would offend me. Matt, um, wasn't very articulate. And Hank, well, he was class valedictorian, but sometimes he had trouble talking without a puppet on his hand.

Jonathan just is. Sometimes he doesn't say the right thing, or anything. And then sometimes he surprises me by saying what I need to hear, even if it isn't necessarily what I want to hear.

I don't know if I needed to hear that I turn him on. I mean, it was flattering, if weird. I didn't know how to react, which is why I just kept pushing at him, embarrassing him.

I did feel kind of bad that when he asked if I'm attracted to him, I reacted like he was crazy. That was unfair. No, he's not my type, but if he were older and not the son of my stepmother, then yeah, I might think he was cute. Of course, I thought Fred was cute, so maybe I'm not the best judge.

Jonathan and I have not gone back to that subject since. But we hang out. We make sure it's stuff like shooting hoops or throwing Frisbees. You know, active outdoor stuff. I try not to worry if he's watching my boobs bounce or looking at my butt in shorts. It's summer. What am I supposed to do? Wear a knee-length parka?

OK, once, as an experiment, I did check out his butt in shorts. It's a cute butt, but it's Jonathan's butt. I tried to just see it as buttocks in abstract, but it was still my geeky stepbrother's butt. And, yeah, I did look at his crotch once, but that was because I knew he'd had an erection earlier and he was standing right next to me and it was a reflex action, OK?

I know, I need to hang out with other people, but I don't feel like being social. Jonathan expects so little from me. It's easy. I don't have to be happy around him. And I don't have to hear he's Met Someone, like with other friends. Bonnie left a message about her new guy, and I just am not ready to face that. But then she doesn't know that I'm getting divorced.

I mean, I guess I am. I don't have the energy to contest it. I don't feel like fighting for or against anything right now. And if inertia leads me to being a divorcée, so be it.

I know Dad's not happy about it, despite his initial disapproval of Hank. I didn't even mind Dad sort of taking Hank's side on the phone. I know Dad still feels guilty about the Kathleen Katastrophe. And Dad is right actually, we don't know what Hank is feeling. But I don't feel like trying to find out.

One thing though. He must've come back to Connecticut in order to file the divorce papers, because I think you have to do that in person. He was in the area, and he didn't even invite me out for coffee. Didn't even call me up to tell me. He let the state marshal do his dirty work. (OK, that's how the process works, but still.) To me, that doesn't say he's ambivalent about the divorce, that he needs a cooling-off period.

For me, the 30 days, or what are left of them (24 now), are probably going to be about me accepting what has happened. I'm not just left, I'm about to be divorced. And I can let that define me, or I can start trying to get my life back together.

I mean, look at Angela, she's amazing! She got the presidency at one ad agency and then went off and founded another agency, which is now such a massive success she can rent a castle! Yeah, she had Dad's support (and I like to think Mona, Jonathan, and I had a little something to do with it, too), but she really is remarkable. I can't do all that. But maybe I can work my way back up to doing pretty well.

The sports and exercise have been good for me, all those happy endorphins. Plus I look better now. Well, I think I do. I can't ask Jonathan of course.

I don't know why I cried on the phone earlier. I guess I just didn't want to deal with Dad and Angela fighting about my marriage and divorce. I'm sure they made up, but I didn't want to hear their advice just then. Jonathan doesn't really offer advice. He doesn't have the wisdom of experience. It's kind of refreshing, although I suppose it'll do me good to hear Dad's lectures and Angela's girl-talk in six or seven weeks.

It's July now. The month that Dad and I moved in. That's the big anniversary that he's going to be celebrating with Angela. I definitely didn't see myself with this life ten years ago. But how could I? I didn't even like boys yet.

Jonathan sought me out after the phone call. He said, "They're sorry."

"I know."

"You wanna shoot some hoops?"

"Of course."

So we did. Then I took a shower and tried to collect my thoughts. I decided I didn't feel like crying anymore. I even read my music magazines, for the first time in weeks, looking for distraction and direction at the same time.

And now I'm going over to the main house to make lunch with Jonathan. We've realized it's stupid to be eating alone. We've never done that before this summer. We usually eat with family. OK, yes, and we ate with the other people in the dorms, but that's kind of like family. Low-key family. Plus, we'll save money this way. And it's just more fun to be with someone.

OK, and when I was looking in the mirror after my shower, I was standing there naked. And I wasn't, as you might expect, assessing my attractiveness. I felt like _This is Sam. No frills, no disguises. Who is this woman? _

And I knew that, although it's OK to be sad sometimes—I'd be crazy to be tra-la-la happy right now—that's no reason to be mopy and listless. So I'm going to keep making an effort. But I'm not quite ready to go on job interviews again.

Jonathan and I make macaroni. OK, it's out of the box, but you have to start somewhere, right? It turns out pretty well. All right, it's not as good as Dad's, but how could it be? At least it's edible. Actually, it's pretty good with carrot sticks.

"Do you always color-coordinate your meals?" Jonathan asks.

"Yeah, tonight it's going to be a blue dinner!"

"Oh, boy!"

He waits till we're done eating to say, "So are you going to contest the divorce?"

"Come on, Jonathan, not you, too!"

"I'm just asking."

"I know what it is. You're using reverse psychology."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You make me think you don't want me to get divorced when really you do."

"Oh, why is that?"

"So that you can have a chance with me."

"Right. And we just ignore the whole stepsibling, huh?"

"Well, Step Two is you get Dad and Angela to split up."

"Curses, you saw through my clever scheme."

"I knew it."

"You know, maybe you're projecting."

"Huh?"

"Well, look at the facts, Sam. I've admitted I'm attracted to you. You claim not to be attracted to me. And yet, who kissed whom?"

"I was drunk!"

"Not that drunk. It had been a couple hours since your last drink. And you'd taken a nap. I think secretly you're disappointed that I didn't kiss you back."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah."

"OK, then kiss me."

"What?"

"You kiss me. And I'll even kiss you back. And then you'll see how it's not a big deal to me."

"That's crazy."

"Hey, if you're scared of me—"

"I'm not scared!"

He's right and he's wrong. He's right that it's crazy, but he's wrong that he's not scared. I'm a little nervous, but I'm not scared. I don't know if I want him to call my bluff, and I don't know how I'll feel either way. But it's been two weeks and I feel better about life, despite the divorce papers. And I guess I want to know if this is just a one-sided crush. Or whatever it is.

"How do you want me to kiss you?"

"What?"

"Do you want me to just grab you and put my tongue down your throat? Or do you want something sweet and unsure? Or what?"

"I don't know! Just kiss me!"

So he does. He moves his face closer and I feel like I'm going to laugh, not at him so much as the situation. So I close my eyes, and his lips could be anyone's, pressing against mine. I press back and it's, it's really nice.

I remember years ago when Heather Harper, who at 12 was taller than I was (and a lot taller than Jonathan), came over to the house and told me, "I don't know how you do it. Live under the same roof with Jonathan." Well, he was pretty easy to resist at that point. And my mental picture of him gets frozen in that time sometimes, if not even earlier.

What I'm trying to see is if I can readjust my perception of him. I mean, he is still a skinny geek but that's not all he is.

He moves his face away and I open my eyes. He's got a patiently waiting expression, as if he wants my honest opinion but he won't be surprised if it's negative.

"That was nice," I say quietly. "Much nicer than when you didn't kiss back."

"I didn't want to overwhelm you all at once."

"Good thinking."

"Like, I'll probably hold back my tongue till August."

"Why wait?" I say and move my face back towards his, closing my eyes again, this time opening my mouth.

His mouth is open when I reach it and, yeah, he gives me his tongue, but not down my throat. Just a taste of it. He tastes nice. OK, he tastes like macaroni and carrots, but I like it.

He strokes my hair, which I've been growing out (more inertia), so I stroke his. He lost the overhanging forelock when he went off to college, and his hair is now spiky in the front. At least I don't have to worry about messing it up, because it's the kind of style that looks better tousled.

He backs his head away and smiles, more confidently now.

"No wonder Heather let you share her gum," I tease.

He blushes a little.

"OK, maybe I am a little attracted to you."

"You think?" he teases.

"Don't gloat, Snake-Boy."

"Sorry." But he grins.

"I don't know what you're so happy about. When it was just your unrequited crush, we could hide it from Dad and Angela. Now what are we supposed to do?"

"We don't have to do anything, Sam. You proved my point and now you can learn to live with it, like I have for five years."

"Thanks, Jonathan, this is just what I need right now."

"Oh, come on, Sam, isn't this better than staying in your apartment, wallowing in your misery?"

"I could deal with that misery! Dad and Angela could understand that misery!"

"Fine, then go back to your misery. Anything to get out of doing the dishes."

"I did most of the cooking!"

"Well, I set the table."

"Fine! I'll wash and you dry!"

"OK."

So we start to buss the table, until I say, "Hey, wait a minute! There's a dishwasher right over there."

"I know. I just wanted to see how much I melted your mind."

"You think that was a mind-melting kiss, Kid? I'll show you a mind-melting kiss!"

And I do. Unfortunately, it melts my mind at least as much as his.


	14. Castle

I'm unpacking and turn to ask Tony which drawers he wants to use. Then I realize he isn't there anymore.

"Tony, where are you?"

"Downstairs!" he yells. "Looking for a phone."

I go to the doorway and yell, "There isn't one!"

He comes charging back up the stairs. "What do you mean there isn't one?"

I sigh. I had no idea he'd react like this back when I booked the castle, although I guess I should've seen this coming when he wanted to call the kids twice from the ship, and then again in Rome.

"There were certain optional features that I figured we could do without, like servants."

"Angela, that's different. I don't mind cooking and cleaning. But what made you think we could go a whole month cut off from the rest of the world?"

I cross my arms. "I don't know. Maybe the fact that this is our honeymoon."  
"I want to spend this month in the castle with you. That doesn't mean I don't want to talk to anyone else!"

"Tony, I knew if I had easy access to a phone, I would constantly be calling the agency."

"Yeah, but what if we need to reach the kids?"

"Tony, we just spoke to them a few hours ago. I doubt anything has changed."

"Yeah, but a whole month! And what if there's an emergency?"

"We can go down to the village if we have to call someone. It'll still be cheaper than if we had a phone here full-time."

He shakes his head. "I'm going to make dinner."

When we arrived in Naples, we had to switch to a local train, for Pozzuoli. Then we caught the ferry to Ischia. It was like a dream to be out on that beautiful water, still blue but with a hint of emerald green. The island itself is volcanic, but not like Hawaii. I can't really describe it, even though I'm in advertising.

"Our" castle is itself on a volcanic rock, connected to Ischia proper by a 722-foot-long bridge. We took the elevator up from sea level (about 260 feet), although there are ancient donkey tracks that you can follow. I might attempt them when I'm not so tired and travel-lagged, and not carrying luggage of course.

From a distance, the castle looks magical and ancient, and in fact it's six hundred years old! Even up close, it's incredibly impressive, although the furnishings are modern, and elegant in a simple, tasteful style. The predominant colors are white and a soft yellow, complementing the gray stone walls. The view from the balconies and patios is unfathomably lovely! When we first got here, I told Tony I felt like a princess.

"Well, you are queen of all you survey," he said.

I paid extra (I don't want to say how much) so we'd have the whole castle to ourselves, since it's actually split up into apartments. But, yes, then I cut corners where I could. It was most important to me to share this with Tony, just us alone. And now he's already missing "civilization."

It's not that I'm averse to going over the bridge, or even to the mainland. I don't mind doing a little sight-seeing. But I feel hurt that Tony doesn't understand how I feel.

Then I realize that I'm not really considering his feelings. Yes, to me it seems ridiculous to want to call the kids twice in one day, when we're on vacation. But we did just find out today that Hank is going through with the divorce. This has to be hard on Tony, to not be there for Sam. And now he's just learned he can't check in with his little girl anymore. Yes, we can write letters, but it's not the same thing, especially since it takes eight or more days for delivery in each direction.

I find him in the kitchen. "I'm sorry, Tony," I say, hugging him from the side as he stirs something in a pot. "You wish you were home, don't you?"

"You kiddin' me? This place is great! How often does a guy from Brooklyn get to stay in a castle?"

I smile and then sigh. "I know, but the timing."

He shrugs. "I was thinking. If we'd waited till the right time, then maybe we'd never have gone. I just want to check in with Sam, and Jonathan, now and then. The rest of the time, it's you and me, Baby."

We kiss softly.

Then he says, "So you're going off the Pill today?"

"Yes, I last took it yesterday morning."

"Wow! I still can't believe this."  
"I know."

"How long do you think it will take to kick in?"

"Like I said, it varies from woman to woman."

"Maybe you should call your gynecologist tomorrow."

"Tony, I don't think Dr. Hollis can give me an exam over the phone. No matter how good she is."

"No, but she could give you advice. Like, are you going to go through weight gain or any side effects?"

"If what you're cooking is any sample of what I'll be eating for the next month, I think I'll be gaining weight here anyway."

"I'll help you burn it off."

"Oh? Do you have an exercise regimen planned for me?"

"I wouldn't call it a regimen."

We kiss again, more passionately this time. I want to keep kissing, but he reminds me he needs to finish making dinner, and we do have a whole month alone. So I give him one more kiss, just a peck on the cheek, and go back to unpacking.

I've brought a mix of swimwear, underwear (including a little lingerie), t-shirts, and shorts. One dress fit for dancing, just in case, although we might have to go all the way back to Naples for a nightclub. I tried not to overpack. In fact, I probably took more to Mexico or Jamaica, and those were both shorter trips. Of course, I plan to be naked much more often than I was on either of those trips.

I could not have been naked with Tony in Mexico of course. At that point, we'd flirted, kissed, and even shared a bed (twice), but I did not yet know I was in love with him. And I was then having a hard time even relaxing on the beach, let alone doing something as wild as sleeping with my housekeeper. The Mexican hat dance was about as out there I got then.

Three years later though, I had recognized my love for Tony, and under his influence learned to relax more. In fact, I relaxed more than he was comfortable with. And, yes, although I blush to admit this, I would've liked to have gotten naked in Jamaica, and I don't just mean topless swimming. But Tony wasn't ready yet.

If I want to run around here naked, I can. I'll probably keep nude sunbathing to a minimum though, since there are tourists elsewhere on this islet. I hope Tony will be equally comfortable with clothing-optional in the house, I mean castle.

After unpacking, I take a shower, washing off the long day of travel. Then I put on a royal purple T-shirt, lavender panties, and faded blue denim shorts. I don't wear a bra, which is rare for me. I like this feeling of not being restrained. For once, having a small bosom (well, small compared to Mother's) is an advantage. I decide to leave my hair down, too, since it's late enough in the day that I no longer need to have it up to cool off. Plus, it was getting messy as we went from ship to train to train to ferry, although Tony thought it looked beautiful anyway. I think he called it golden, although I haven't had a chance to check my phrasebook yet.

I want to learn a little more Italian this trip, although I'll admit I won't be interacting with Italians much. Well, yes, Tony, but he's Italian-American, and I've never been so aware of his American side as when we arrived in Rome. In Fairfield, he stands out as very much not a Nutmegger. (I prefer that term to "Connecticutter" or "Connecticutian." Sometimes Tony calls me his Connecticutie, which I like when he says it.) Everywhere we go in our town, he is seen as ethnic. But here, we are both foreigners, he almost as much as I.

I'm not trying to isolate us entirely, but I suppose there is a bit of a shared "strangers in a strange land" feeling here. I hope that will bring us even closer together.

And, yes, tonight we can begin the baby-making process. It may take months. It may even take a few years (hopefully very few). But tonight is the beginning of us genuinely attempting to have a child together. I don't want either of us to feel pressured about it, especially since it's unlikely that one day off the Pill is going to do it. I want us to still make love for the sake of love. But what could be more wonderful than a baby made out of love?

I know, I'm getting sentimental. Maybe my hormones are already going funny, as they adjust to this change.

I hear Tony ringing a dinner bell. I didn't even know there was one here. I give myself one more look in the mirror, wondering if I have time to put on makeup. Purple lipstick? No, that would look too odd. Besides, it would come off while I'm eating. And kissing.

After our ferry docked, and before we took the bus across the bridge, we stopped off at the market in Ischia Porto, the main town. (This islet is Ischia Ponte, or maybe that's the settlement at the foot of the castle. Yes, it's confusing.) Tony marveled at the fresh ingredients and he bought as much as he could carry, despite his suitcase.

He's made what he calls "Sunday sauce," although it's Friday. (The 1st. I need to keep track of the days, especially if I'm trying to get pregnant.) I don't remember all the ingredients (well, my mind isn't set up for that), but I can taste the garlic, onions, peppers, and basil. It smells wonderful of course. We're putting it on meatballs, but he says it goes well with spare ribs, too.

"Hey, Angela, go easy on it. There's half a cup of red wine in there, too."

"Oh, good thing you told me. I'd better eat more meatballs, to soak it up."

He laughs and shakes his head.

We're eating out in the garden, admiring the sunset.

"I can't believe we have a whole month in Paradise!" I sigh.

"Then maybe we should've got ribs after all," he says.

It takes me a moment to get it, and then I laugh. And then I sigh happily again. "I can't think of a more handsome Adam."

"Si sarebbe una bella Eva."

He's been speaking more Italian today than usual, and not just to the locals. The funny thing is, even without my phrasebook, I can almost understand him. He just said something about my being a beautiful Eve.

We kiss. Then we feed each other the meatballs and Sunday sauce. It gets a little messy, like Mrs. Rossini's pasta our first day on the boat. (We ended up throwing most of what was in the Tupperware to the seagulls, but we won't tell her of course.) This is the perfect excuse to go upstairs and take off our clothes.

"I knew you weren't wearing a bra," he says as he removes my T-shirt.

"I didn't think I needed one."

"Yeah, not with me around. If you want me to hold your breasts for the next month, just ask."

"That might get a little inconvenient at the open-air market and on the bus."

"I mean when we're alone."

"Ah."

He kisses my breasts. On the ship, he would do this greedily, but now he is tender. I wonder if he's thinking of what it will be like when I'm pregnant. It's funny, now that we are closer to that happening, it somehow seems more abstract. After all, I haven't been pregnant in eighteen years. I've forgotten so much about it, although I suppose it'll come back to me.

I suddenly remember bringing up the subject with Michael. His reply was a "Yeah, sure, I guess." Not indifferent but not enthusiastic either. Tony may have doubts (as do I, if I'm completely honest), but I'm sure that he will be crazy about our child, if we have one.

And then I remember seeing a baby on the train from Naples. An ordinary baby I suppose, no cuter than average. But it looked right at me, with big brown eyes, and I felt my heart clench, I don't know how else to explain it. Maybe my biological clock was saying _You could have an Italian, well, Italian-American baby, like this, but you've got to hurry. _I don't know, but it was strange. I've never had that reaction to a baby before.

I think of mentioning it to Tony, but then he starts teasing my thighs with his fingertips, and my thoughts become a lot less, well, maternal.

###

**Author's Note**: Even if you're skipping the odd-numbered chapters, you may want to read Chapter 15, "Mona's Letters."


	15. Mona's Letters

July 5, 1994

Dear Kids,

Yes, I know you're not children anymore, but since I'm not admitting to anything more than 35 at parties, please allow me my illusions. Yes, I've been going to fabulous Hollywood parties. Well, average Hollywood parties, including a birthday bash for both the USA and me yesterday. I met all of the Baldwin brothers! Also Pauly Shore.

The movie is going pretty well. I hope to wrap up my executive assistant duties in about a month, if I don't strangle Norman in the meantime. He's let moderate success go to his head, as star and screenwriter, and I'm surprised he doesn't want to direct.

Libby is the same boring wimp she always was, but Clint is a cute little boy, a bit like you were at his age, Jonathan, but without the Dutch-Boy-paint-can hairdo.

The movie has gone through several title changes since I arrived, so who knows what it'll be released as, if it's ever released. I've lost track, but I remember the very literal _Shoe Store Mystery,_ as well as _Gumshoe &amp; Flatfoot, Sock it to Me!, Sole Man, Loafers and Bums, Dirty Rotten Heels,_ and of course _These Boots Are Made for Talking._I wanted them to call it _Cagney &amp; Shoelacey_, in honor of Norman's bad celebrity impressions, but no one went for that. As executive assistant, I have to keep my mouth shut a lot, which is a challenge. I didn't even bother offering the surefire box-office draw: _The Killer Wore __Thongs._

I've been spending as much time as possible at the beach. I don't get to live in a castle of course, but my hotel is nice enough. I hope you two are getting out in the sunshine, too.

Oh, Jonathan, I ran into your father the other day and he says you are welcome to visit this summer if you're interested. Maybe you should both come out to California. It might do you good. Sam, I'll see to it that you don't run into a certain person, if you're worried about that. This is a big state, big enough for all of us!

Miss you both,

Grandma Mona (but don't call me that if you visit!)

###

July 5, 1994

Dear Tony and Angela,

I hope you're enjoying your long-awaited and well-earned honeymoon and not calling home and the office every day. I know you haven't called me, not that I'm complaining. I haven't tried to call you, or the kids for that matter. I think we all needed a summer on our own, or at least I did.

That does not mean that the family hasn't been on my mind. How could it/you not be, when I have to deal with exes? First of all, let me tell you about my encounter with Michael. I ran into him at a party, since the host knew of Michael's documentaries. We were civil enough, although he said it was irresponsible of you, Angela, to run off to Europe for a couple months, leaving your 18-year-old son almost totally on his own. I pointed out that Jonathan has somehow survived a year of college without you at his side, and I refrained from pointing out that Michael hasn't exactly been the doting father.

At least not to Jonathan. He admitted that Heather wants a baby and he said, "I'm not so old, am I?" I again bit my tongue. (Oo, I wonder if I could come up with a good movie title with "tongue" in it! In the shoe sense. Get your mind out of the gutter, Tony.) His "child bride" is now, what, 33? I suppose her biological clock is starting to tick. Angela, you are very lucky to be past that phase. Anyway, Heather seems to see a baby mostly as an opportunity to shop, since she said, "I buy a lot of cute outfits for our pug, but there's only so much they can wear." Not that I'm anti-shopping by any means (good to hear Sam made it to the mall, by the way), but I do pity any child that has Michael and Heather as parents.

As for the other ex, or soon to be ex, yes, Hank has been on set a few times. He's been helping Whatshername with the puppet design, but mostly they work in her workshop. I almost feel sorry for the girl, with Norman, the studio executives, and the director in strong disagreement about what the shoes in the nightmare sequence are supposed to look like.

Hank of course is very self-conscious around me, but I'm perfectly pleasant to him. I don't tell him that he ripped out the heart of my honorary granddaughter, leaving her to cry, overeat, and shop. He did ask about her (of course they're not in touch), so I said she was very busy looking for a job, which I hope is true by now. I thought of making up a rich, handsome, successful boyfriend for her, but it might interfere with her using adultery as grounds for the divorce.

Has she filed yet? I hope she's not waiting for him to come back, because he and Whatshername look pretty cozy. And I agree with Angela that Sam should get on with her life. Tony, I know you don't approve of divorce, but in some cases it's for the best. And maybe it's better that it happened when Sam is still young and attractive, not a dried-up, bitter woman in her 30s, like Angela was. Ha ha, I kid!

Love you both,

Mona/Mother

P.S. How's Jonathan doing?


	16. Letters from Mrs Rossini

July 5, 1994

Hi Samantha and Jonathan!

I hope you're both doing great and had a fun Fourth. Me? I'm OK. Summer is not the best season for the fish business, but on the other hand it's doing all right. I'm thinking about retiring actually. If Joe, Jr. will move back to Brooklyn, he can take it over. Otherwise, I guess I'll sell out. I know, the Rossini Fish Market has been here for over 50 years. Old Joe founded it when he came over from the Old Country.

(Speaking of the Old Country, I can't believe Tony Micelli is living in a castle on Ischia! Sam, if you knew your father as long as I have, you would know how amazing that is.)

Of course, Old Joe is dead. And you know what happened to my Joe. Sam, I know we didn't really get to talk three weeks ago, but if you ever want to discuss what you're going through, just call, day or night. Or maybe you (and Jonathan if he wants) can come to the old neighborhood again. (No wild parties though! Ha!) We don't even have to talk, if you don't want to. But I do know what it's like to give your heart and life to a man and then have him cheat on you and run off with a floozy!

Of course, for all I know, you've made up with Hank by now, and if so, no offence. Best wishes to you both. You can even bring Hank to Brooklyn if you want. I bet none of you kids are eating right.

[Two pages of recipes omitted.]

Jonathan, if you do come to Brooklyn, I've got a real nice girl I'd like you to meet. She says she doesn't even mind that you're not Catholic or Italian. Let me know, and I'll send you her picture next time.

Big Hugs,

Mrs. Rossini

###

July 5, 1994

Hi Tony and Angela!

So how are things on your little island? It sounds like something out of a fairytale! I have your postcard up on the bulletin board at the fish store, and everybody asks about it. I tell them that Tony Micelli is renting that island! (OK, I exaggerate a little and, Angela, I hope you don't mind. It's just I don't think they could understand Tony landing a wife who makes the kind of money you do.)

And how are the honeymooners? I'm not prying, you understand, but it's no secret that I waited for YEARS for Tony to find someone after he lost Marie. And, well, he's so good with kids, I was wondering, have you thought about having more? Yeah, Angela, I know you're very busy with your agency, but Tony would be a big help to you with a baby.

And don't think you're too old! My cousin Carlotta had a baby at 50! So you've still got time, and you're in great shape. OK, a little skinny, but Tony and I can help fatten you up.

[Omitted one page of recipes and one page of folk remedies for infertility.]

Be careful with that last one though, unless Tony still wants twins like he used to. You should be able to get all the ingredients, for the recipes, too, locally, although you might have to go over to the mainland. I'm not as familiar with the Neapolitan culture, other than the ice cream of course, ha ha.

Tony, buy your wife lots of ice cream by the way. It'll be good if she ends up breast-feeding, trust me on this. And, Angela, it's not much of a sacrifice, is it? I know your sweet tooth.

By the way, are the kids eating all right? Should I drive up with some meals for them? By the way, did you keep the Tupperware? I'd like to reuse it. Don't ship it back to me! It's not worth the expense. Just put it in your luggage and return it at your convenience. You can put seashells in it or other souvenirs, so it's not just taking up space. You gotta think practically, even on a deluxe vacation.

I should say goodbye I guess. Oh, Al says hello. By the way, do you think, I mean when Sam is recovered from her divorce (and, yes, I know divorce is a tragedy, Tony, but what are you gonna do?), do you think she might want to start dating Al again? He's still single, and he's grown up a lot in the last few years. Let me know what you think. She could do worse, and who knows? We might end up related! (That would make Sam my aunt and you, Tony, my great-uncle. I think.)

Big Hugs,  
Carmella Rossini


	17. Raisins and Eggplant

Sam has invited me over for hot-tubbing! Yeah, so much for staying away from her when she's in a swimsuit. But then, two weeks ago I never thought she'd ask me to kiss her.

We've been doing a lot of kissing in the past two weeks. We both know we shouldn't be kissing. But we both like it and we can't seem to stop.

Yes, I asked her about the "not attracted to me" conversation. She pointed out she never said she was repulsed by me. I think it's that, well, OK, look. For a 13-year-old guy to be attracted to a 17-year-old girl is pretty normal, but it doesn't usually happen the other way around. Stepsibling-hood aside, I just wasn't in a category that she could find attractive. Now I'm old enough that she could actually consider moving me into that category, and she has.

I know I'm not as handsome as Hank or Matt, or whathisname the stockbroker from three years back. But I'm as cute as Fred, right? Plus, Sam and I have a friendship to build on. We know and understand each other.

We still make fun of each other, but it's turned into a weird sort of flirtation. Actually, if I told her, "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever met, models included," that would be weird, although it would be true.

We don't talk about where this is leading. We seem to have agreed that we're in the phase where we have to determine that this is what we want to be doing right now, before we can talk about beyond this. So far, the answer is yes, we want to keep kissing. But, college boy that I am, I've made an outline in my head about what we're not talking about.

What We'd Have to Talk About If We Talked About Where This Is Leading

I. Physically

A. I'm a virgin, she's not. Does she want and/or expect sex eventually? If so, when?

B. She's experienced, I'm not. It's intimidating enough that she's kissed a lot more people, and for more years, than I have. If we do go to bed, I'm going to feel clumsy and inadequate.

C. I'm at my sexual peak. I am almost constantly horny, and all this kissing isn't helping. Plus we've established that I'm more physically attracted to her than she is to me. Maybe I'll want sex more, and more sex, than she will.

II. Emotionally

A. How do we feel about each other? Is this mostly a physical thing? Or not?

B. What if all this kissing, and maybe eventually sex, leads one or both of us to get emotionally attached to the other? I mean, we're not in love now, but it's not impossible, right? Probably I would be attached to her, but she is lonely and on the rebound. And she "falls in love" really easily, as Mom has pointed out in the past.

C. What if we both fall in love? Then what? It definitely won't be a summer romance, or fling, or whatever it is at this point.

III. Socially

A. If this does get serious physically and/or emotionally, we're going to have a very hard time keeping it to ourselves. I know Bonnie has been leaving messages on Sam's machine, saying they should get coffee and catch up. Her friends would freak if they knew about this! (Mine might think it was cool, if weird. But then guys judge each other differently about dating than girls do. Plus dating hot 22-year-old divorcée stepsister vs. dating geeky 18-year-old virgin stepbrother.)

B. The neighbors are going to get suspicious soon, seeing how much Sam and I are hanging out, and what if we slip up and kiss or hold hands in public? You know that Joanne Parker would love to spread gossip like that, and there are plenty of other women in this neighborhood with too much time on their hands who would be thrilled to listen.

C. Our parents! Mom and Tony have always been overprotective of me and Sam respectively. Even if their marriage didn't make us sort of related, they would still have issues with the age difference. But if anyone is going to freak-out over the quasi-incest, it'll be them.

D. Grandma will be cool about it. I just know. She can be an ally. But she's off in California and, according to her latest letter, might not be back till after Tony and Mom return.

E. I'm sure Mrs. Rossini will tell us it's a sin. Which it is, I guess.

This is all assuming it leads somewhere. For all I know, it'll fizzle out and it'll just be a weird summer memory we'll look back on in disbelief years later. If so, I will never tell anyone. And I guess we'll just go back to our standard relationship.

But right now I'm trying to figure out what to wear in the hot-tub. Not Speedos, even if I had some. They're gross and Euro-trash. (Tony's last postcard was ranting about some guys who had them on at the beach on the bigger island. Our mailman was amused.) Plus I'm still too skinny to pull off that look. Maybe if I were more muscular.

Of course, Tony is muscular and he likes the long shorts. Yeah, my male role model. I would feel weird asking Sam what kind of men's swimsuit she likes. OK, I'm going with not-so-short-they-might-as-well-be-briefs-but-not-hanging-down-to-my-knees-either shorts. Hopefully my legs look all right in them.

I am doing my very best to not think about what Sam might be wearing, but I'm sure her legs will look great. I'll know soon enough.

When she suggested it at lunchtime, I said, "You want to use Grandma's Jacuzzi?"

"Yeah, it's just sitting there neglected."

"But won't you feel weird going in there without Hank?"

She shrugged. "That whole place reminds me of him. I manage to get to sleep in our bed every night. I think I can face a hot tub."

"Well, OK, but when you say hot-tubbing, do you mean—?"

"With suits, Jonathan. You'd have heart failure if you saw me naked."

"Yeah? Maybe you're not ready to face my devastating nudity."  
"Why? Is your body covered in scales?"

See what I mean? We're still us. We're just an us that are—What are we? Not dating. Exploring I guess.

I put on sandals and a T-shirt, since we're having dinner over there first. And just in case Mrs. Parker is spying today. ("Angela, I don't mean to pry, but why was your son wearing only swim trunks when he was visiting your stepdaughter's apartment?" I can totally see her writing that to Mom in Italy.)

We've been making most of our meals together for the last three weeks, but Sam said she wanted to surprise me tonight. So while I've been having my moral/fashion crisis, she's been whipping up whatever she's been whipping up.

I do my special knock that I did once and that's become a thing. It's to the rhythm of "It's Jonathan." We were talking about poetry classes in college, and she cleared up scansion better than my professor did. My knock is iambic. Obviously, she doesn't have a ton of people dropping by, but I still knock, out of habit.

She yells, "Come in!", so I do.

She's putting the food on the table and I laugh. "That's cheating! Half that stuff is purple, not blue!"

"Well, purple is red plus blue."

"Then you may as well serve green food, since that's yellow plus blue. And that would give you more to work with."

"Geez, Jonathan, don't be so picky! After I slaved away at your dinner."

I laugh again. Yeah, she's slaved away at blueberries, raisins, eggplants, and cabbages. "Don't you think this is a little too vegetarian? Where's the beef?"

"You want blue meat, Jonathan? Go out and buy me a steak and some food coloring."

I shake my head. "Boy, I thought you Italian girls waited on your men hand and foot, but I guess I was wrong."

"Don't believe everything you see at Mrs. Rossini's at Thanksgiving."

"I guess that means I won't be unbuttoning my pants and putting my hand on my stomach."

"No, not when you're wearing swim trunks."

I blush. She's wearing a T-shirt, too, with a long wrap-around skirt. She's not wearing shoes, since she won't be going outside.

"Come on, sit down. If you're nice, I'll serve you leftover red, white, &amp; blue ice cream."

I smile. We bought some on sale after the 4th. It's a good sign that she hasn't eaten it all yet. "Why don't we have it with the blueberries and raisins on top?"

"Sounds good."

So we do. I know that, even with eggplant and cabbage on the side, this isn't exactly what her father would consider a balanced meal. But I'm trying not to think too much about what Tony would approve of.

After we eat and put the dishes in the sink, she says, "I'll go get the hot tub ready."

"OK," I say, hoping my voice doesn't sound too shaky. Even in swimsuits, well, it won't be that innocent, will it? If we don't at least neck, I'll be surprised.

"You get the towels."  
"OK," I say again, and that time my voice breaks.

She smiles and kisses me. "Relax, Geek, it's just me, right?"

"Thanks."

She heads upstairs to the Jacuzzi, while I go raid Grandma's linen closet. Even though Grandma doesn't live here anymore, and even though she's pretty unshockable, I still feel funny about this. Part of me thinks I should run home across the driveway and just give up on all of this. But then there's the part that's demanding I go up and hot-tub with Sam.

I take off my shirt and sandals, and then I wrap a towel around my waist, so that my hard-on won't be as obvious. I think I'll be OK in the water, even though it'll be, well, hot.

I've never actually been upstairs. I think of it as private space, whether for Grandma or Sam &amp; Hank, or now just Sam. Going up here is as much of a big step as the hot-tubbing. But I keep going.

The Jacuzzi is on the floor of the bathroom. It's smaller than I pictured, and mostly sunken, but with the top step above floor level. Sam is kneeling beside it, still dressed, and testing the temperature. She looks up when I come in.

"Jonathan!" she gasps. "I said no naked hot-tubbing!"

"Relax," I say, "I've still got my shorts on."

"Oh, OK." She stands up.

I hand her the other towel and she takes it but hangs it up. Then she stands there waiting. I reluctantly unwrap myself and hand her that towel, too. She glances down at my crotch and I blush.

"Jonathan, it's OK. I expected this. That's why we're not doing this naked."

"OK." I step into the tub, figuring I'll feel a little less self-conscious if I'm surrounded by water. I sit down and feel the bubbles teasing me.

Then she smiles and asks, "Ready?"

I say yes, but I'm not sure if I am, or even what I'm supposed to be ready for. Then she peels off her T-shirt, revealing a bikini top. For a moment, I wonder if I really will have a heart attack, and what Mom will say when the doctor calls her.

Then Sam unwraps her wraparound skirt and I feel like my blood could heat the Jacuzzi.

"I don't think your father would approve of that swimsuit, Samantha."

"Well, Jonathan, I don't think your mother would approve of you hot-tubbing with a married woman."

"Separated," I correct her. And I don't mention that my mom dated before the divorce was official, although it wasn't her fault that my dad had been off in a jungle and hadn't responded to the divorce papers yet.

"Good point. Soon to be a sexy, lonely divorcée."

I shake my head. She knows she doesn't have to do anything to seduce me. Just being herself is enough. This is a game to her. But I don't think either of us really knows the rules.

She steps into the tub, across from me, and it's impossible not to look at her. I wasn't kidding when I said she has a perfect figure.

She sits down and smiles at me. "So, Jonathan, where do you want this to go?"

"Sam, couldn't we have had this conversation at the dinner table? When my brain was still functioning?"

She laughs. "I think this is the perfect place to talk."

"You do, do you?"

"Yeah, I do. Because for two weeks, we haven't been talking about whatever is happening here. We've just been kissing."

"Couldn't we just keep kissing?" Suddenly, I'm scared of everything happening too fast.

"Oh, you want to kiss, do you?" Then she moves closer and starts kissing me. And my hands start caressing her shoulders and back, like they've got minds of their own and have to touch that beautiful, uncovered olive skin. Then she pulls away. "I think that answers both of our questions."

"God, Sam, I'm sorry!"

"Jonathan, what happened just now is exactly what I expected to happen."

"Sam, why did you set this up? Why are you playing with me like this?"

"Jonathan, I'm not a teenager. I can't just kiss. I can't be in a relationship that will never be anything but kissing. We don't have to go to bed tonight, but I need to know that there's that possibility someday. Otherwise, I feel like I'm the one who's being played with."

I stare at her. "You want me, Sam?"

She shakes her head. "You sweet, clueless dweeb, of course I do."

A declaration of love couldn't surprise me more. All I can say is "Oh."

"Believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are. Or I was two weeks ago. And, yes, I know all the reasons against it. But I can't stop thinking about it anyway."

"Sam, it's such a big step!"

"But do you want to take it? I mean, I know I make you hard. But that doesn't mean you want to go through with sex. At least not yet, right?"

"Right. Sam, couldn't we at least make out? Have some sort of transition?"

"What do you think the hot-tubbing is, Dweeb?"

Then she kisses me again, tousling my hair. I stroke her hair down to the back-tie of her top. I play with the knot, hesitating. She whispers, "Go on, Jonathan."

My fingers fumble, and the knot is wet. She shakes her head. "Am I going to have to keep teaching you life skills?" she teases.

"Hey, I've unhooked a bra but it wasn't wet."

She reaches around to her back and teases, "A bra? As in one?"

"Let's say it was less than a dozen bras."

"Have you even gone out with a dozen girls?"

"Have you gone out with a dozen guys?"

She laughs. "No, now that you mention it, I don't think so. Depending what counts."

I seriously ask, "Do I count, Sam?"

A little more seriously than before, she says, "Hey, I may be a slut but I don't take off my top for just anyone." And then with a flourish, she whips it off and I feel like my eyes are going to fall out. Or shoot out of their sockets like an old cartoon character.

"You are a very beautiful slut, Samantha Micelli."

"And you are a very sweet, clueless dweeb, Jonathan Bower."

Then she settles into my arms and we kiss. I stroke her bare back, and she strokes mine. Yes, I want to touch her chest, but I don't want to rush into it. Or does she want me to rush into it? Is this moving too slow for her?

And there are still all the reasons why we shouldn't even be doing what we're doing, but maybe after a certain point it doesn't matter. I mean, after you kiss your stepsister, aren't you as likely to go to hell for it as if you made out with her half-naked in a hot tub? Or did even more?

"It's OK, Jonathan," she whispers. "You want to touch them. You've wanted to touch them for years. I want you to touch them now."

So I do. I cup them gently in my hands, as if they're fragile. I can't believe this is happening!

"You're nice," she murmurs. "I thought you'd be grabbier. But I haven't dated a teenager in awhile."

"Yeah, my generation isn't as crude as yours."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

So she kisses me. But I don't shut up and neither does she. We both murmur and gasp.

"I could make you, couldn't I, Jonathan Bower?"

"I bet I could do you, Samantha Micelli."

"Samantha Micelli-Thomopolous, the lonely divorcée."

"The sexy, lonely divorcée," I correct her. And then I start caressing her breasts. Her nipples are hard. I don't know if this is the first time I've made them hard, since it's not as obvious as when she gives me an erection. But it's proof, if I needed any, that she's not just playing games with me. She meant it when she said she wants me.

But not yet, it's too fast. And I want to make out some more first.

We neck as I play with her breasts. I try not to think about how many guys have done this to her before. At least I'm probably only the second one to do it in a hot tub.

After awhile, she pulls away and I wonder if I'm doing something wrong. I mean both that my technique may be off and that maybe this really isn't something we should be doing.

But before I can ask, she settles on the top step and arches her back. I've read enough porn magazines to know what that means. I kiss her breasts and she sighs happily.

"So gorgeous," I murmur and then, cupping them again, I suck them. She gasps in surprise and pleasure. "_Dear _Penthouse Forum,_ I never thought this would happen to me_," passes through my mind. She tousles my hair and then twists it, like Heather Harper did in more innocent times.

I concentrate on one breast, the one over her heart, which is beating fast and irregularly. I'm sure my heart is, too, but hers is the one I'm listening to. And my other hand moves down to her smooth stomach. I want to keep moving it down, between her legs, but that might be too fast.

"Jonathan, so good! But—gasp—need to talk!"

"Well, this is the perfect place to talk according to you," I say as calmly as I can.

"Can't do it here!" she pants.

"Why can't we talk here?"  
"No, 'it'! Not here!"

"I wasn't expecting to. Or anywhere tonight."

She gets completely out of the tub, grabs a towel, and wraps it around herself. She leans against a wall. Trying to catch her breath, she says, "When we do it—It has to be safe."

"Of course, Sam. I wouldn't want to get you pregnant, for a dozen reasons."

Then her eyes widen in shock. "Jonathan, I think I am pregnant!"


	18. Pause

I got my period. In a way, it's a good sign, that I'm still fertile. But I would much rather have ovulated, and in fact that was what I was expecting after two weeks off The Pill.

Also, it means that I'm not pregnant. Not for lack of trying. Tony and I have been just as amorous, if less frantic, these first two weeks in the castle than we were in our two weeks on the cruise ship. It's been wonderful, and certainly I don't go to bed with Tony just to make a baby. But there is a certain let-down.

I remind myself that there is still time to have a baby. We will have more chances. This period means I still have a cycle. And Mother was almost 50 when she went through menopause. And look at Mrs. Rossini's cousin Carlotta.

How funny that Mrs. Rossini guessed that I want a baby, while Mother doesn't have a clue. I don't know that I'll tell Mother. Not until and unless I get pregnant. I couldn't stand the ridicule.

I flush the toilet and then look under the sink for the "prodotti per l'igiene femminile" that Tony was embarrassed to help me buy in Naples when I realized I'd forgotten to pack them. Maybe it was a Freudian oversight, as if I thought I'd get pregnant right away and wouldn't need them.

I go back to the bedroom and slip in beside Tony. He turns and spoons me.

"Hey, Baby, the bed is cold and lonely without you."

"Well, I'm back now."

Even half asleep, Tony responds to the tones of my voice. (He can also of course be completely oblivious. But he's always been this blend of sensitivity and insensitivity.) "What's wrong?"

"I got my period." Why do I feel like crying when I say that?"

"You want me to brew you some tea?"

"No, just hold me."

"Sure." His arm slips lower, to press against the bottom of my stomach, where the cramps are always worst.

"Thank you, Tony," I whisper.

"Gettin' closer, 'Gela," he slurs. "Period means babies."

I want to say it means, "No baby this time," but I know what he means. I stroke his arm and he falls asleep before I can say anything more. I want him to comfort me with words, but this is all he can give right now. And it does help.

Ovulation might be in two weeks, before we leave the castle. There's still a chance for an Italian conception. And if not, well, there will be the cruise back. And yes, "the boring Connecticut conception" if need be.

We had sex just an hour ago. We have it all times of the day here. Sometimes it's first thing in the morning, with his erection as reliable and as warming as the rising sun. Sometimes it's after breakfast, when we decide to go back to bed after breaking our fast. Sometimes it's a nooner, before or instead of lunch. Sometimes it's an afternoon delight, followed by a sweet siesta. Sometimes it's an after-dinner dessert. And sometimes it's late at night, one of us waking and needing the other, so that one kisses the other awake and we glide into sex.

We have sex in bed of course. But also in the bathtub and the shower. In the living room (the couch is Scotch-guarded). And once, mmm, in the kitchen, when I reached under Tony's apron. We hope to have it on the patio sometime, but we haven't worked out the logistics yet. (On the table? On the cold stone floor? Because it would be cold since we'd have to do it at night, when no tourists are out and about. Or would we wrap ourselves in a blanket?)

We also kiss and hold hands as much as we can. Sometimes we cross the bridge and go to the market, not every day like the locals, but often enough that Tony can get fresh ingredients sometimes. We've tried out some of Mrs. Rossini's recipes, although not the folk remedies. (I'm not that desperate yet, and I'd want to clear them with my gynecologist first.)

In some ways, I feel even more like a honeymooner when I'm with Tony in public. When we were first a couple, he went from being too shy to kiss me in front of Jonathan, to acting like a lovesick and clingy teenager. Now that we're married, we're both more comfortable about the level of public affection we want to express. And Italy isn't exactly a nation that frowns on public affection. People smile at us, when we're at the market, on the bus, on the beach.

Oh, Tony is so funny! We went to the local beach about ten days ago. I thought he'd object to my string bikini, because he can be very protective/jealous about my showing too much skin in public. (The fit he threw when I wore that New Wave minidress seven years ago!) But instead he seemed to be proud of how his wife looked. (And I think I look pretty good for a 44-year-old. Thanks mostly to Tony, I take good care of myself. Of course, the days of "skinny Angela" will be gone once I get pregnant, but it'll be worth it.) The thing Tony got upset about at the beach was all the Speedos on some of the younger men.

I don't think it was jealousy. He was the only one I ogled, and I know I wasn't the only one who ogled him. Even in long shorts, he is still the sexiest man on the beach, as sexy as he was eight years ago in Mexico. It's not just the muscly arms, hairy chest, washboard stomach, and tight tush. It's also how he carries himself, an almost animal grace, like a panther. He really lives in his body, while it took me a very long time to be comfortable in mine.

Other than that rant on the beach, Tony is enjoying being here, "among his people." That amuses me. Like I said, I think they see him more as an American than as a "local boy come home." I think he forgets sometimes that he's not even Brooklyn Tony anymore. He will always be proud of his heritage, but he has been changed by his Connecticut experiences.

"Don't you think being inside a WASP compromises your ethnic identity?" I teased the other night.

"Nah, I feel even more Italian by contrast. Not like when I was scr—seeing Frankie and Tanya."

When I was a sorority girl, even though it was the '60s, it would've been unimaginable for me or one of my friends to date someone "ethnic," unless he were rich of course. I guess we were snobs, but it was more that we didn't really know anyone different from us, in that safe, enclosed world. Even when I got a job on Madison Avenue, the rest of New York didn't really exist for me. And then Michael and I bought a house in safe, sheltered Connecticut.

After the divorce, I went back to dating the sort of men I dated before Michael. Tony wasn't even in a category of men I could be attracted to. It would've been like falling for a Martian. But he was a very sweet, sexy Martian.

It's funny, different as Tony is from me, and the men I'd dated and continued to date after I met him (after all, even the last, Andy, was a doctor), I felt more of a connection, a common ground, than I had with anyone, even Michael. Michael and I were only alike enough to argue.

Not that Tony and I didn't argue, but it always brought us closer, while it drove me and Michael apart. And sorry to stereotype, but Tony argues the way Italians do, both here and in America. They yell and wave their arms, but there is never any doubt that they love you.

"We yell because we care," Sam said to me a few months ago. I don't know how Greeks argue, but apparently she and Hank didn't yell and wave their arms when it ended. From the little she's told me, it ended quietly. And there was no, perhaps could be no, making up afterwards.

Tony and I always make up. He has done some really awful things, from having my car painted red (well, it seemed important at the time) to accidentally getting me fired to, well, the whole thing with Kathleen. But I love him and I know he doesn't mean to be hurtful. I wouldn't tolerate abuse, but I can tolerate and forgive being human.

I've done some things to hurt him over the years, again unintentionally. He told me once that the cruelest things I've done to him are when I push him away, trying to protect us both. Like when I said we should "explore our options," when he first slept with Kathleen. And when I left him in Iowa. Sometimes trying not to hurt someone can actually be more hurtful.

Sometimes, as Shakespeare and Nick Lowe said, it's cruel to be kind. And kind to be cruel.

Oh, there's a Shakespeare Festival in Naples next week! I want to go, even though it'll all be in Italian. I think I can still follow along, and I want to see what, for instance, _Two Gentlemen of Verona_ is like in the land where it's set. And Italian is such a beautiful language that I wonder how Shakespeare will translate.

I know, originally I saw me and Tony as hardly leaving this castle, just living like a king and queen of a country of two. But it's been good to mix with the world a little, and then "come home" to our stronghold, and the shelter of each other's arms.

America seems very distant, and not just in miles. Even Rome seems far away. It's not that I don't think of the agency, or Mother and the kids. But I'm sure everything's fine. If there had been an emergency, we'd have heard. As for the smaller, everyday crises, those can wait. It's been a hard lesson for me, and an even harder lesson for Tony, but we don't have to take care of everything and everyone.

I don't know if I can carry this lesson back home, as I carried the lesson of "watching the sunset" in Mexico. I was still somewhat of a workaholic when I got my own agency, in some ways more so, because I had to build it from the ground up, with only Tony and Mother's help at first. But I also found chances to enjoy life, too.

I suddenly remember nestling next to Tony in Jamaica. It was after our passionate kiss on the bench at the beach, after he told me he didn't want to let it lead where it seemed to be leading. After he hinted he might want to marry me someday. And I agreed to wait, on everything. And I felt peaceful and contented next to him, as I would sleeping on a train almost two years later. What I remember most is watching the sunset with him. (OK, and Mother shooting across it as a human cannonball.)

We have about half a month of Italian sunsets left. I plan to watch as many of them, and of sunrises, with Tony as I can.

Unless we're making love at the time of course.


	19. Travel Down the Road

"Uh, Sam, I may not be that experienced, but I think it's going to take more than making out in a hot tub to get you pregnant."

"Shut up, Jonathan," I mutter. This is not something to joke about.

He gets out of the Jacuzzi and comes over. "Sam, you just suddenly realized you're pregnant? By Hank?"

"Yes, by Hank!" I snap. "I'm not that much of a slut."

"Oh, Sam!" He tries to put his arms around me but I can't take his comfort when we're half naked.

"Jonathan, go downstairs and put on your clothes."

"Do you want me to leave?" Oh God, I feel like I've kicked a puppy! This isn't his fault.

"No, just get dressed. I'll be down in a couple minutes. This isn't how I want to have this conversation." Well, I don't want to have this conversation at all, but it doesn't look like I have much choice.

He nods. "OK." Then he gets his towel, wraps it around himself, and leaves.

I slump against the wall a little longer and then pull myself together enough to stagger into my bedroom. I throw on sweats, trying not to think of all the baggy clothes I may have to buy soon. This can't be real. None of this is real.

Yes, Jonathan is dressed when I go downstairs. He's in the kitchen, doing the dishes, even though I have a dishwasher.

"Let me do that, you're the guest."

He shakes his head. "Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. Maybe you are a traditional Italian girl."

"Shut up," I say, though this time I can't help being amused.

He escorts me to the couch, like I'm a little old lady he's helping across the street for a Scout badge. I know he's using humor to get me through this. It's annoying but sweet.

"I'm not necessarily pregnant," I say when we sit down.

"OK," he says, drawing it out.

"It's just, well, I haven't had my period since April."

"Since April. Sam, this is July!"

"Yeah, I know."

"When did you and Hank last—? I mean, um."

"Let me think. It was during finals week. I was trying to study and he joked about having a quickie."

"When was that?"

"Mid-May. Two months ago. I don't remember which day."

"OK. And, um, did you guys use protection?"

"I have a diaphragm. But it's a hassle sometimes, so I might've left it out."

"No condoms?"

"No, we were married."

"Sam!"

"What?"

"Well, he was cheating on you."

"Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit!" I moan. Why didn't I think about this before? I mean, yes, I was walking around in a fog when he left, but how out of it was I?

"How could you go three months without noticing you weren't getting your period?"

"I don't know. I was stressed out and I wasn't taking care of myself. So if I thought about it, then I just would've figured it was because of that. Besides, it wasn't three months. It was two and a half. It was late April the last I got it. Ovulation would've been in the middle of May."

"Ovu—that's your most fertile time, right?"

"Right."

"And that's when you had unprotected sex."

"Yeah."

"Oh God, Sam!"

"I know!"

"God, I hate Hank!"

"It's not his fault."

"Not his fault? Sam!"

"Well, I mean, I don't think he was trying to get me pregnant. Not right before he left."

"Do you think he was sleeping with her yet?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Probably?"

"What about AIDS and everything?"

"Oh God!"

"Sam, we've got to get you to a doctor right away!"

I can't help laughing. "Jonathan, it's a Friday night. And this is not exactly an emergency. I mean, it's serious, but it's not like AIDS or anything is going to show up on a test this early."

"But what about—What about your baby? If you're having one."

"I'll call my gynecologist on Monday. Make an appointment as soon as I can."

"Sam, what are we going to do if you're pregnant?"

I blink. "We? Jonathan, there is no 'we.'"

He leans back and stares at me. "What about all that in the hot tub?"

"So, what? We're engaged now?"

"No, but, Sam, I care about you! And I am uncle to this kid!"

Then we start laughing and he leans back in to hold me. We're laughing a lot and crying a little at the same time.

"God, I'm so glad you're here," I murmur.

"Yeah, if I weren't, you probably wouldn't have realized you were pregnant till Christmas."

"Shut up," I murmur against his shoulder.

He kisses my forehead. "Sam, I don't know what this does to 'us,' and there is an 'us' in some sense. But whatever you're going through, I am your friend, and I am here for you."

"Thank you."

"What are you going to tell Hank?"

"Let's find out if I'm actually pregnant, first of all."

"OK." A pause and then he asks, "What are you going to do if you are?"

"Well, I'll—" I find myself smiling. "I'll be the best single mom I can."

He smiles back, but I don't know if it's at me being sort of happy to be possibly pregnant, or at the idea that I won't try to get back with Hank. Then he says, "You want a baby?"

"Yeah, I do. I mean, it's terrible timing of course. But, yeah, if I am pregnant, it's sort of wonderful."

"Yeah," he says quietly.

"I wanted children with Hank, but I feel lucky that I might have one without him. And I've wanted kids at least since the time Dad took in Billy."

"You were in the dorms by then."

"Yeah, but it made visits homes even nicer. He was such a cute little boy!"

"To be honest, I thought he was kind of a brat."

"You were just jealous. You weren't the 'baby of the family' anymore."

"Yeah, that's what it was. Middle child syndrome."

"Exactly."

He shakes his head. "If Mom and Tony had gotten together sooner, when she could have had a baby—"

"She still could."

"Not safely. And I doubt they'd want to now, with us finally grown up."

I don't know about that, but I let him continue.

"Well, I think that would've been cool having a half-brother or -sister. But Billy always seemed like an outsider."

"Well, I liked him anyway. And I look forward to having a kid of my own."

"If you're pregnant."

"Yeah."

"Sam, you're really not going to try get back with Hank?"

"No, he's got Whatshername, and even if he didn't, he hurt me, and I don't know that I could forgive him."

"Do you still love him?" he asks quietly.

I sigh. "I don't know. Sometimes I hate him more than I've ever hated anyone. And other times, I remember how happy we used to be together. And sometimes it's both."

"Oh."

"You've never been in love, have you?"

"No, not yet," he says quietly.

"I always thought I was in love, with different guys, until the next one came along, and then I'd think that the previous one wasn't really love. Now I don't know anymore. Maybe it was all love of some kind."

"Yeah." Then he hesitates and asks, "Who was your first?"  
"First one I thought I loved?"

"No, the first, the first one you were with."

"Oh, with," I tease, then become more serious. "It was Hank."

"Yeah? Did you wait till you were married?"

"Yeah, actually. Of course, we weren't dating that long."

"Oh. So I would be your second. Um, if we do it."

I kiss his cheek. "Yeah, you would."

"Wow!"

"Well, I would be your first."

"Yeah. Sam, do you still want to keep, um, well—?"

"Being involved?"

"Yeah."

"Well, let's cool it down. At least till I find out if I'm pregnant."

He nods. "That makes sense. You're already dealing with a divorce, and a baby would be an even bigger life change."

"Yeah. Plus, you're not gonna want me when I'm fat, are you?"

"Well, how fat are you planning to get?"

I laugh and then kiss his lips. Not an intense kiss, just a sweet, little, friendly kiss.

He kisses back, but then he says, "I should probably go home. But call me if you want to talk later."

"Of course."

"And thank you for a lovely evening."

I laugh and then try to be more serious as I say, "Thank you for being a friend," but we both end up singing the _Golden Girls_ theme.

Then we stand up and I walk him to the door. We hug goodnight. And then he's gone.

Obviously, this is not how I envisioned this evening. Would I have gone all the way with him tonight, if he'd been willing and I hadn't had my realization? I don't know. Probably not. I mean, it was getting hot in the hot tub, and he's really good at making out. But I think it would've just been the transition he asked for. After all, Hank was the first I was "with," but he wasn't the first I'd made out with.

Now? I don't know. I might not be pregnant, but this is a reminder that sex can lead to pregnancy. And as Jonathan said, him being the one to get me pregnant would be a bad idea for a lot of reasons.

If Hank got me pregnant? How do I feel about that? Well, obviously I'm not as happy as I would've been a few months ago. And now I can't help wondering if Hank did sleep with Whatshername before he left. I mean, you don't leave your wife just because you've been necking, right?

If he exposed me and my baby to a virus, I will never forgive him. If he's clean, well, I'm still not thrilled, but I might let him have visiting rights. If there's a baby to visit.

I was planning to be safe with Jonathan anyway, but now there's extra motivation. Yeah, if I'm pregnant already, that's one less thing to worry about with Jonathan, but there would be the risk of disease.

I tried to be a good girl, too. This is so unfair! I mean, yeah, I had my minor rebellions (I wasn't like Angela apparently was in her teenage years), but I saved myself. I was a virgin and then I was a faithful wife. And this is my reward?

OK, I don't know that Hank has anything. Whatshername may be clean, or maybe she made him wait till he left his wife. (Maybe that's why he left me. Just like he married me so I'd "give it up.")

I guess it's weird that I didn't ask Hank if he'd slept with her. At the time, it almost didn't matter. What mattered was that he was leaving me for her.

So why did he sleep with me during finals week? It wasn't like I was chasing him. It was his idea. Was he comparing me to her? Did he want to see if maybe he should stay with me? Was I being judged and found inadequate?

At least that won't be a problem with Jonathan. Oh God, am I doing it again? Getting involved too soon, too fast? If there really is something here, and it's not just hormones and insecurity, maybe we should wait.

Yeah, wait and then what? Dad and Angela will come back. And I will never have this chance again, to find out what there is or could be between me and Jonathan.

Obviously, I'm very confused. If I am pregnant, that's even more crazy-making hormones running around in me.

I need to find out. And there is of course the whole finding a job thing, which admittedly I have not put a lot of energy into lately. Hank presumably wouldn't be a deadbeat dad, but why am I making that presumption? After all, this is not a child he wanted or expected. It may be up to me to support the baby, although I'm sure Dad and Angela would help out. But how do I support the baby when I don't have a job? And how do I work if I have a baby?

OK, Samantha, one step at a time. Call the doctor on Monday, and then go from there.


	20. Cycles

I wake up before Angela does and stumble to the nearest bathroom, needing to pee. I notice the "feminine hygiene products" on the counter and remember her waking up last night. That's right, she got her period. I don't think either of us was expecting it so soon. And in the back of my mind, I thought I might've gotten her pregnant by now. We sure tried enough times.

You know what's weird? She's the first woman I've known where I've been really aware of her cycle. My mom died when I was seven, and I doubt she would've talked to me about her cycle even if I'd been older. And then when I started dating, girls were a complete mystery to me. You knew vaguely, mostly from misinformation from your buddies, that girls had a "curse," but you didn't really get how it worked. The priests and the nuns wouldn't tell you anything, even if you had the courage to ask.

I loved my old man, but it wasn't really something we could talk about. He did tell me about wet dreams, that they weren't my fault. So that's what I told Jonathan, because I figured Michael wasn't around to tell him it was normal. But I skipped discussing periods because my dad never talked to me about them, and I figured Jonathan could find out in school if he really had to know. (There was no such thing as Sex Ed at Pitkin High. At least not on the official curriculum.)

With Marie, even when we were married, it wasn't like I was home a whole month in a row that often. And she got pregnant less than a year after we got married, and then she was nursing Sam for a couple years.

After Marie died, I rarely dated any woman longer than a month. And then I moved in with Angela. At first, I didn't even want to deal with her underwear! But I don't know. I guess after awhile we relaxed around each other enough. And she disposed of everything so discreetly. Plus Sam's cycle started, so before I knew it, I was buying feminine hygiene products for both of them. (Luckily, Mona was a few years past that.)

I don't know if I'd have been able to tell Sam about periods. I think after Marie died, I figured Mrs. Rossini would say something to Sam someday. It was awkward enough having the "first bra" conversation with Sam. When Angela offered to talk to her about periods, well, it was kind of an awkward conversation for us (I think she called it "growing into womanhood" and I called it "other changes in Sam's body"), but I said, "Yeah, please tell her what she needs to know."

Sam already knew some stuff, from school and her friends, but I think it helped to talk to a woman who was as close as she was going to get for a mother at that point. Someone who knew her, cared about her, lived with her.

And after the first year or two, their cycles coordinated. Nobody warned me about that! That meant double doses of PMS for one thing. (Combine that with Sam's break-up with Chad McCann and fight with Angela for some real fun!) It made me very grateful that Jonathan was a little boy. I mean, women are great, don't get me wrong, but I wasn't prepared for this.

I didn't know it at the time, but Angela's birth control of choice after her separation and then divorce was the diaphragm. She told me, when we were in Iowa and we first slept together, "Well, Tony, I was celibate most of the time, so why deal with the possible side effects of other birth control?"

I said, "Yeah, but what about when you want to be spontaneous? Isn't it a hassle?"

She looked at me, shook her head, and said, "Just how much spontaneous sex do you think I had with the likes of Geoffrey?"

She had a point, but I said, "Yeah, but now you're with the likes of me. And I'm going to want you whenever I can get you."

She blushed. "Well, I guess I could switch over to the Pill."

So she did, but not till we were back in Connecticut and we were married, since she wasn't in Iowa long enough to make that big a change. And she wanted to consult the gynecologist she knew and trusted so many years. I'm still surprised she didn't get Dr. Hollis's advice before deciding to go off the Pill and try to conceive.

Anyway, she hasn't had too many periods for the last couple years, because of the Pill. So it's weird to be back to that. And ovulation down the road of course.

I take a look in the bedroom but she's still asleep. So I go downstairs and brew her some tea. I remember when I was first reading up on menstruation (at age 33, better late than never), it said that women should have less caffeine during their periods. I asked Mona about it, because I was too embarrassed to ask Angela or Sam. She said, "Tony, women's bodies tell them they want caffeine. And if you give Angela coffee and chocolate, she will be less bitchy." So I decided to follow Mona's advice, rather than the books and magazines. And it seemed to work, so I gave the chocolate (but not the coffee) to Sam as well. And started serving tea for both.

They both appreciated it. I didn't say why I did it, they just knew. This is the kind of lesson that I haven't yet figured out how to pass on to Jonathan, how to be a subtly sensitive guy. I thought of telling Hank when he married Sam, but I figured she'd tell him what she wanted.

I don't know about those two, what went wrong, what I could've done to prevent it. Yeah, I feel guilty about the divorce. I guess I just should've put my foot down more in the first place, forbidden the wedding, or at least guilt-tripped Sam enough she'd call it off. But then she played the "It's like you without Angela" card and I couldn't say a word.

Damn it, it's nothing like me without Angela! Angela and I weren't a couple of college kids who hardly knew each other. And I should've said, "You may think you want to marry him now, but what about Matt? You gonna get engaged every year, Sam? Is that your new hobby?" But she would've hated me if I said any of that. And Angela probably would've talked me out of it. But I can't help thinking it now. Because look what happened!

I don't know. Maybe they should get divorced. I just don't want to see Sam rush into another relationship as soon as the ink is dry on the final papers. Yeah, I want grandkids someday, but no rush. When we get back to Fairfield, I'm going to have a long talk with Samantha. If she hasn't got a job yet, I'm going to strongly encourage her to find one, and think about that instead of men for a change.

I don't know what I'll do if Angela and I have a daughter. Do I really want to go through all this again? More PMS and boy trouble? Not that sons are easy, but it seems like we worried less over Jonathan. Or maybe it was just that he was nerdier and quieter, I don't know.

Well, no new kid till, let's see. Ovulation is two weeks after menstruation, although it might take longer under the circumstances. But a conception in late July at the very earliest. So a baby in late April. A Taurus. It'd be cool if he had my birthday. If it's a boy I mean. A Taurusina wouldn't be bad though I guess. (Sam is a Leo.)

The tea is ready. Maybe later I'll cross over the bridge and get Angela some chocolate at the market. And fresh oranges so I can squeeze her some juice. I think she'd like that. And I like being out in the fresh air, haggling in my best Italian. (I never use the phrasebook like Angela does. I make some mistakes, but I get by OK.)

I go into the bedroom and she wakes up and smiles. "Good morning, Tony."

"Hey, Sweetheart, how are you feeling?"

"A little crampy, a little disappointed." She frowns.

"Disappointed?"

"That I'm not pregnant."

I know better than to laugh. "Honey, we're going to have lots and lots of chances to make a baby, trust me on this."

She smiles. "You're right. And it's not like our attempts have been 'failures.' "

"I think they've been big successes myself."

She laughs. "Yes, for everything except baby-making."

"Give it time. And remember, we weren't going to pressure ourselves about this."

"Right."

"Here. Drink your tea." I hand it to her.

"Mmm, peppermint, thank you."

"You're welcome."

I sit next to her and she offers me a sip.

"I don't have cramps, Angela."

"I know, but it's so good! Have some."

"OK." I take a sip then hand it back to her. "You want me to massage you?"

"Yes, thank you, but let me finish my tea first."

"OK." I stroke her hair. It really does look golden in Italy. I guess it's all the sunlight. But then I think all the colors are more vivid here. No wonder there are so many great Italian painters.

"Why are you so sweet?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

"I don't know, is it?"

I stroke her Grace Kelly neck, feeling the tea go down her throat. "I'm sweet, if I am sweet, because you deserve sweetness. You appreciate sweetness."

"You are sweet."

I shake my head. "I don't always feel sweet. Sometimes I lose my temper, or say mean things."

"Well, you're human."

"Yeah. So are you."

"Human?"

"Human and sweet."

"We are a couple of sweet humans, aren't we?"

"Yeah. You done with that?"

"Yes, thank you."

I take her almost empty cup and set it on the nightstand. Then I begin to massage her.

For a long time, we couldn't massage anything but feet. It felt too intimate to go above the ankle. One of the joys of really being with her is that nothing is out of bounds. I don't just mean the "naughty bits," but everything else. Even though she hasn't had a lot of periods since we got married, she still gets cramps sometimes. And I've learned how and where she needs her stomach rubbed.

She lies back and I try to rub the cramps away. She moans and I try not to let it turn me on too much, because this isn't really about pleasure right now, certainly not my pleasure.

But then she surprises me by saying, "Tony, can you rub my breasts?"

I raise my eyebrows.

"No, really, they're very tender right now."

"If they're tender, should I even be touching them?"

"It would make me feel better."

"Well, OK." I mean, not that I need much convincing to touch Angela's chest of course. It's just I was trying to not be sexual about the touch this morning, since I figured she wouldn't want that during the curse.

They are tender, very sensitive, but in a good way. She tends to be very responsive anyhow, but it's like the hormones have put everything on maximum. Before I know it, we're necking and I'm playing with her breasts like it's Prom Night. (My Prom Night, not hers.)

"Is this helping your cramps?" I ask.

"Yes!" she gasps.

I feel bad that I'm so turned on, but then she reaches into my pajamas. (I'm just wearing the bottoms, and I'd walk around naked if I weren't worried about tourists looking in the downstairs windows.) She plays with me as I repeatedly whisper her name in her ear and squeeze her breasts. We both come, even though I'm not even touching her between the legs.

"Wow!" we both gasp afterwards, and then laugh.

"That was intense," she says.

I nod. "How are your cramps?"

She smiles mischievously. "They were pretty mild to begin with. But you were so sweet to want to alleviate them."

I shake my head and fall back on my pillow, deciding that the open-air market can wait.


	21. Gallant

"Dr. Hollis will see you now."

I squeeze Sam's hand and she does her best to smile. Then she goes through the door and I try not to feel too self-conscious, as the only male in here over the age of 5.

As recently as a week ago, this was not where I expected to end up, in my mom's gynecologist's waiting room, as my stepsister/ sort of girlfriend goes to find out if her not-quite-ex-husband got her in trouble before he left her for another woman.

As I flip through an old _Highlights _magazine (hey, it's either this or _Ladies' Home Journal_), I think about the last few days. After I went home from Sam's, I changed out of my swim trunks and into pajama bottoms, leaving the T-shirt on. I did my best to try to get some sleep, but I kept waking up and wondering what would happen.

Yeah, Sam and I have talked since that night. We still have a couple meals a day together. We still shoot hoops and throw Frisbees. But we don't hang out much where it might lead to making out.

Yes, I still want to make out with her, but I accept that she has other things on her mind right now. I spent years never expecting to do anything with her, so I'm used to this. But I do wonder what will happen after she gets her results.

She called her doctor's office on Monday, but it turns out her doctor was on vacation. Even the substitute couldn't fit Sam in for another week. Then I thought of my mom's doctor.

"What about Dr. Hollis?"

"The one Angela goes to?"

"Yeah, or would that be weird for you?"  
She shrugged. "I don't know. This whole thing is weird. But it's not like she'll tell Angela. And if she'll see me sooner than another doctor, then that's all I care about."

So we found Dr. Hollis's number in Mom's address book in her home office. Sam called and there'd been a cancellation, so she could get a Wednesday morning appointment. I was glad we wouldn't have to wait as long as we might've, but it still feels like it's been a long wait. And now I'm waiting a little longer.

Yeah, I said "we." I know it's Sam and Hank's baby, if there is one, but I feel like I'm a part of this. Whatever happens, it's going to affect Sam, and that will affect me.

She actually applied for a job yesterday. Not like a couple months ago, where she was just doing it because she'd just graduated and thought that that was what she was supposed to do, even if she wasn't in the right mental and emotional state.

"What about the baby?" I asked.

"What about it? I've got to support it, don't I?"

"Yeah, but you'll be taking maternity leave almost as soon as you're hired."

"We don't know that. And maybe this place will be sympathetic to working moms. Or maybe I won't even get an interview this time."

"That's the spirit."

She laughed.

I try to make her laugh as much as I can. It seems to help, and it's really all I can do for her, except give her hugs or hold her hand. Sometimes I almost wish Mom and Tony would come home early. Let them be the grown-ups, deal with this. And then maybe I'd just relax and act like a college guy with the summer off.

There is the part of me that likes being needed. I know she wouldn't need me if I weren't the only one around. But I am and she does. If she's not pregnant, well, there's still the whole divorce thing.

I do wonder if she would even have bothered with me if she weren't going through that. I guess not, because she wouldn't have gotten drunk at Philly's party and kissed me later. And then we wouldn't have talked and explored this a bit. I don't know.

I wonder if I should look for a summer job. But I'll be heading back to MIT in about six weeks, so why bother?

God, only six more weeks! Six weeks that can go in a million directions.

OK, if Sam decides we should end our whatever, then I'll look for a job, too. I can't just sit around the house. I'll need to get out, be around other people. And if she doesn't need me, then I don't need to be waiting around for her next crisis.

I know, that's not fair, especially when I'm sort of one of her crises.

The other women here keep glancing at me and then quickly looking away. They probably think I got Sam pregnant, especially since we were holding hands earlier. It wasn't an affectionate thing. It really was about comfort, for both of us, because this situation is nerve-wracking. Well, it should be over soon. The waiting part I mean.

She's just getting a pregnancy test today. When she made the appointment, they told her that HIV and STDs wouldn't show up on a test until at least three months after possible exposure. So even if she's not pregnant, she'll have to come back in mid-August. I don't know if I'll go with her then. I guess it'll depend on if Mom and Tony are back yet.

Will we wait for those results before we have sex? I don't know. I don't even know if we'll have sex. I want to but I don't want to, if that makes sense. We've definitely already crossed a line, but it's still not too late to drop this. If it was just my penis making the decision, then, yeah, I'd want sex. But then there's nothing like sitting in an OB/GYN's waiting room to remind you that sex is never just sex.

I turn the page and there are Goofus and Gallant, just like I remember them. Goofus isn't just a goof-up, he's obnoxious. And Gallant isn't exactly gallant like a white knight. He's more like a stereotypical good boy. You know, polite, considerate, nerdy.

I'm imagining, "Goofus leaves his wife for another woman, possibly getting his wife pregnant first. Gallant lets the wife cry on his shoulder and doesn't rush her into rebound sex," when Sam comes out through that same door she disappeared through, to that mysterious "women's world." (Not to be confused with _Woman's World, _which I also considered reading.)

"How'd it go?" I whisper, trying to ignore the women watching us. (No one I know, but I can't help worrying that one might be a friend of a friend of Mrs. Parker or something. They're not under the Hippocratic Oath or a vow of confidentiality or whatever.)

"Can you come in there with me?"

"Yeah, sure." I set down the magazine. I want to ask her if everything's OK, but I don't want to in front of all these eavesdroppers.

She leads me through the open door and then into, not the examining room, thank God, but I guess the consultation room. Dr. Hollis, a lady with short gray hair and a nice smile, stands up and shakes my hand.

"Jonathan, good to see you again."

"Again?"

"I delivered you."

Oh, this isn't at all awkward!

She gestures for us to sit down, so we do.

"Now, Jonathan, Samantha asked me to wait till you joined us before I reveal her results."

"It's not mine!" I blurt out.

Sam face-palms and I feel like Goofus.

"Yes, she told me."

"I mean, not that I would be ashamed of admitting it was mine if it was. But it definitely isn't. We've just made out in a hot tub."

"She told me that, too. Well, not the hot tub part. But that you two hadn't been completely intimate yet."

Poor Sam is blushing behind her hand but I can't seem to shut up.

"Is it safe for her to be in a hot tub if she's pregnant? I heard somewhere that it's not."

Dr. Hollis smiles. "That's only an issue later in pregnancy."

"What about drinking?"

"Jonathan! Can we at least find out if I'm pregnant before you play brother-hen?"

I snort. Sam can be very clever with words sometimes.

"Well, to begin with—"

"I'm sorry, Sam."

"It's OK. Now shut up."

So I do.

Dr. Hollis looks like she's never met a couple like us before. Not that we're exactly a couple of course.

"First of all, although Samantha had about a month of not taking proper care of herself, she is very healthy. And."

We both look at her like we can't stand the suspense, although I guess we could've found out a couple minutes ago if I had shut up from the start.

"And the baby is healthy, too."

"Ohmigod!" Sam whispers, and it sounds like a prayer as much as the cry of a girl who was a teenager in the '80s.

"This is still the first trimester of course. And I'll want you to come back next month, Samantha. We can run the STD and HIV tests then, but I don't want you to worry about the exposure to disease more than necessary. Of course, if you do decide to be active with a new partner, then you will need to be extra careful."

"Is it safe to have sex when you're pregnant?" I've heard different things, but it's not exactly a topic I've been concerned about until very recently.

"Some women have it through the ninth month."

I can't decide if this is gross or not.

"Jonathan, you will be back at college long before then, and there's no way that this fling or whatever it is will last past the summer, or even after our parents get back."

I want to argue about it, but I'm guessing that my mom's gynecologist's office isn't really the place for this discussion.

"Now, Samantha, I promised I wouldn't judge you, despite the unusual situation you're in. But I do need to know, when are Angela and your father returning?"

"In about four weeks. Depending on if they decide to postpone their return cruise in order to visit Great-Aunt Rosa and everyone."

"I see. And, Jonathan, how old are you?"  
"Um, 18," I say, wondering what that has to do with anything.

"Then you may be needing these." She reaches into her desk and pulls out a string of what looks like a dozen condoms.

"Um, thanks," Samantha says, blushing again.

"And, Jonathan, you're a virgin, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah." Now I'm blushing.

Dr. Hollis pulls out another dozen condoms.


	22. Buffs

"Il corso del vero amore non ha funzionato liscio."

Angela doesn't know much Italian, but she knows enough Shakespeare to squeeze my hand on that line. I remember misquoting it in English seven years ago and she gently corrected me. I'd said "romance." Then after awhile I asked her, "Are you sure it's 'love'?" And she said, "Positive." I had the feeling that there was more being said under the surface, but I wasn't ready to look below. And I had laundry to do and the moment passed.

We're watching _Sogno di una Notte di Mezza Estate_, out in the beautiful Neapolitan sunshine. Yeah, this play isn't actually set in Italy. It's set in and around Athens. I guess they figured that was close enough, and they wanted an even dozen plays. (Also, Athens is one of Naples's sister cities.)

It's four plays a day for three days. This morning we watched _Romeo __e Giulietta. _I remember reading it when I was camping on a billboard to encourage literacy and to support the Fairfield Parents Association. (I'm no longer president. I quit when I moved to Iowa, and now Angela and I don't have any kids in public school. But, yeah, I guess I could run again in 2000, if Tony Jr.'s in kindergarten.)

Angela joined me on the billboard for the last twelve hours or so. I'd received a job offer from the national PTA and it was tempting. But I couldn't see leaving her and Jonathan and the rest of my life in Fairfield, even for a well-paying job in D.C. She wanted to make sure I wouldn't have any regrets about turning that job down. Yeah, her and her worries about my having regrets. It's sweet and it's selfless, but sometimes I wish she'd just once said, "I don't want to lose you. I'm going to be selfish and ask you to be with me, no matter what wonderful jobs come along." Then Iowa wouldn't have happened, or at least not the way it did.

Anyway, I remember talking to her about that and about how _Romeo &amp; Juliet _made me wonder if I was too strict about Sam with boys. Lately I wonder if I wasn't strict enough. What if I'd forbidden her to ever see Todd after he tried to feel her up? (She was only 14! OK, I know, I was trying to feel up girls when I was 14, but that's different.) Yeah, I guess I did forbid it, but then I trusted her again so they dated awhile.

I was always giving in, usually because Angela and Mona convinced me to, or because Sam manipulated me into it. I didn't want her to go steady with Jesse, but she did. I tried to stop her engagement to Matt. I even flew out to New Mexico, with the family, and all that happened was Sam agreed to come back to Connecticut when the summer was over. That engagement still dragged on for months. And all of us, plus Joe, Fran, and Mrs. Rossini, tried to stop Sam's wedding to Hank, and it happened anyway.

I mean, I'm not saying I wish Sam and Hank (or Matt, or Jesse, or, well, maybe Todd) had ended up dead. Lord Capulet was too strict. But maybe I should've tried to protect Sam more. Or did I have to let her make her own mistakes, like Angela says? Angela. No offense, but she wasn't anywhere near as rebellious a teenager as Sam was. If Angela and I have a daughter, I hope the girl takes after her. I'm going to be too old to deal with another Sam.

Anyway, Angela and I both cried at _Romeo &amp; Juliet, _even if we didn't understand every word. The actors and actresses are really good. This is a little like Shakespeare in the Park in New York, only with much less chance of being mugged.

At first, I thought Angela was a little crazy to want to spend three days and two nights in Naples, when we've got a perfectly good castle to sleep in every night. But even in paradise, you need variety. So here we are, in "the big city." Actually, it's about one million people, but life here seems so calm and relaxed compared to New York, or even Rome.

It is kind of nice to take a break from cooking and cleaning again. Yeah, I'm going to be so spoiled after these two months, with two weeks on another cruise ship coming up. Anyway, we had authentic Neapolitan pizza for lunch, and it was great. (Naples claims to have invented the pizza. Angela keeps reading me this stuff out of the guidebook.) We'll probably get pasta or seafood for dinner.

The next play will be _Il Mercante di Venezia,_and then this evening it'll be _Due Gentiluomini di Verona. _Angela and I have both been to Venice, separately, but never Verona. In some ways, I feel like we should be traveling more, really seeing Italy, and maybe the rest of Europe. But I have been enjoying waking up with her in one spot day after day, knowing we usually won't have to rush off somewhere. Even this little side-trip has been leisurely.

With only four plays a day (and we might skip a couple of the more obscure ones that are being performed in the mornings), we have plenty of time to explore this beautiful seaside city. Yes, it's got that unbelievable blue water, although I think the sky is a truer blue back at "our castle."

Still, there are no nightclubs on Ischia, and we've agreed to go dancing at least one of the nights we're in town. She packed one of my favorite dresses, a royal blue number with a slit up the side, very sexy in her classy way. I teased her that she must've known we wouldn't stay in the castle the whole time, or in our cabin on the cruise. She said she wanted to prepare for any eventuality. But I notice she didn't pack hiking boots or a pith helmet. (She'd look pretty cute in them though.)

As for me, I can probably get away with a jacket and tie, like on the ship. I never tried to be dapper before I met her. OK, yes, on my wedding day, and at the occasional baseball awards banquet, but not as a regular thing. I mean, in Brooklyn? At Marty's Melody Room or the bowling alley? Not to mention that for a couple years there, I spent my days in a fish truck, so I wasn't going to dress up at night. (I liked _Saturday Night Fever, _but no one in my generation would've worked at a paint store and owned a white suit.)

When I first showed up at her door, even though it was just for a job as housekeeper, I tried to look my best and hoped I didn't smell too badly of fish. And when I came back to her eight years later, I was wearing a tux. I'd gussied up for her several times in between. I like it. We look great together when we dress up, although we're pretty cute even in jeans and T-shirts, like now, as we sit on the grass and listen to "E nel bosco, dove spesso e io/ Su deboli primula-letti erano soliti mentire." ("And in the wood, where often you and I/ Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie.")

We didn't have the big wedding I'd planned and imagined. Yeah, I was kind of a Groomzilla. I was trying to make up for my elopement with Marie, and also I felt like I needed a big ceremony to represent the size of my love and commitment to Angela. When Angela left me in Iowa, I almost wished we had eloped instead of just staying engaged. Wasn't the important thing whether or not we were going to share our lives together forever? Did the wedding matter that much?

On the other hand, look at Sam's elopement. She was actually a little older than Marie, but not as mature. And I'd been younger than Hank, but I had lined up an apartment for us. We wouldn't be moving in with her folks. (I probably would've strangled Nick in the first week, for one thing.) We were impulsive because we were deeply in love, but we weren't thoughtless and selfish.

I know, I'm being too hard on Sam. But getting married in high-tops does show a certain inability to look towards the future. Angela and I can both be obsessive. (And I've probably become more driven since I met her, in the same way that she can relax more than ten years ago.) But when we did finally get married, it was both impulsive and planned. I already had my tux, she had her dress. We just didn't need the caterers and all that. So we booked a church and invited our nearest and dearest.

Our wedding photos are great. Hank took them, now that I think about it. On the bright side, that means he's not in most of them. Anyway, I'm biased of course, but Angela and I really are a lovely couple in them. Not just the wedding outfits, but the big smiles on our faces, like we thought we were the luckiest people in the world. Which maybe we were, and are.

"So what's this one about?" I whisper. I studied Shakespeare in college, but Angela's more of a literature buff. "I got _Romeo &amp; Juliet. _Star-crossed young lovers meeting their doom. But this one?"

"It's about the absurdity of love," she whispers back.

"Yeah?"

"Yes, there are several mismatched couples, deliberately mismatched."

"Puck," I say, remembering. She blinks in shock. "Puck the elf. He's puckish, mischievous."

"Oh, yes."

" 'What fools these mortals be!' "

"What would that be in Italian?"

I think a moment. " 'Che sciocchi questi mortali!' "

"I like that."

"Me, too. So do you think Shakespeare thought love was a tragedy or a comedy?"

"I think it depends on who the lovers are and the odds they face, and how they cope with them. With us, it's a festival, heavy on the romance."

I kiss her for that. And for a moment I forget that we're not alone, and I press my body onto hers so that we're lying back. I've been so spoiled by our privacy at the castle. It feels really nice lying next to her on the grass, like we're in a wood, on a primrose bed. (I assume there would be no thorns.) I reach under her T-shirt to caress her stomach.

She gently moves my hand away. "Later, Tony."

"Oh, right. Sorry. Bad manners at the theater."

She laughs and sits up. "I'd hate to see what you'd try at the opera."

I grin and hope that there'll be time before _Il Mercante _to go to our hotel and be buffs in the buff. Because we're even cuter undressed.


	23. Uncola

I take us to the McDonald's drive-through on the way home.

"Sam, shouldn't you be watching what you—?"

"Stop nagging me, Jonathan!"

"I'm not nagging. I'm concerned."

I roll my eyes.

"Can I have a Quarter Pounder with cheese?"

"Oh, I see, you can eat what you want and I can't."

"Well, I'm not pregnant."

"Say that a little louder, Jonathan. The microphone might not have picked it up."

"Hello, welcome to McDonald's. May I take your order?"  
I get burgers, fries, and drinks for both of us. Jonathan reaches for his wallet but I say, "My treat."

"Thanks, Sam."  
"Just hand me my purse."

He gets it and reaches inside, blushing as he takes out a fistful of condoms. I roll my eyes again. Then he takes out a twenty and hands it to me. I drive forward and pay for the food.

"Thank you and have a nice day!" the girl cheerfully tells us as she hands over the food and the change.

I grunt, "Welcome."

As I drive off, he says, "I think I went to high school with her."

"Too bad you forgot to put the condoms away."

He blushes and puts them back in my purse. There's silence for awhile and then he says, "I thought you'd be happy about the baby. You said before that you wanted it."

I sigh. "I am happy about it. It's just, this is all very weird, OK?"

"OK. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Let's wait till we get home."

"OK. Can I eat in your car?"

I roll my eyes yet again.

"Just teasing."

"OK."

We get back to the house and go in the kitchen. We don't bother with plates. We just eat right out of the bags. I didn't have much for breakfast because I was nervous and because I knew I would have to pee at the doctor's. Maybe it's that I now know for sure that I'm eating for two, but I'm starved.

"I know this isn't healthy but I need comfort food right now, OK?"  
"OK. Sam, are you upset about the baby?"

I sigh and set down a fistful of fries. "I don't know. Part of me is really excited. A baby, an actual baby! And part of me is scared. It didn't really hit me till today that I'm going to be responsible for another human being. There are so many mistakes I can make, even before it's born. And I've already screwed up my life. What if I screw up hers?"

"Hers? Do you think it'll be a girl?"

"No, but I think I'd rather have a girl."

"Because you hate men now?" he teases.

"Yeah, exactly."

More seriously, he says, "I don't think you've screwed up your life."

"Jonathan, I'm unemployed and I'm going to be a divorced mom."  
"So? My mom was both of those things eight years ago."

"Uh, yeah, because your father left her and my father got her fired."

We both laugh.

Then I find myself asking, "Did you ogle me in Mexico?"

"Sam, I was only ten!"

"I'm just asking."

"Besides you were still pretty flat at thirteen."

I shoot my straw wrapper at him. He catches it. His hand-eye coordination has improved with all our Frisbee, but then it wasn't that long a shot.

"Sam, I think you're going to be a great mom."

"Based on what?"

"Based on the fact that you can do anything you set your mind to."

"Yeah? Then why can't I have a successful relationship?"

"Well, maybe it's their fault."  
"All of them?"

"Yeah. You've never really had a guy who was willing to commit to you."

"I see. Are you suggesting you're that kind of guy?"

"Me? Nah, this is just a summer fling, remember?"

I shake my head and eat some more of my burger.

"So, Sam, when are you going to tell Hank about the baby?"

"Right after lunch, Jonathan. I'll just call him up in Hollywood at his girlfriend's and say, 'Guess what, Honey-Buns?' "

"Come on."

I sigh again. "I don't know. I think I'd rather tell Dad first, and I'm definitely not ready for that."

"Wow, Mom and Tony are going to be grandparents!"

"Yeah, that's how this works. And you'll be an uncle, as you pointed out."

"Right." He laughs.

"What?"  
"Oh, I was just thinking of Grandma lying about her age, when she's almost a great-grandmother."

"Hilarious, Jonathan."

"You're the one who said this was all weird."

"I know. But not necessarily funny weird."

"Sam, not to pressure you, but, um, can we talk about us?"

I set aside my burger. "I guess we should."

"OK, I was thinking about this in the car. On the one hand, you shouldn't be involved with anyone while you're going through a divorce and a pregnancy."

"Maybe not." Why does that make me feel sad? Like I'm doomed to be alone, just because of Hank.

"But on the other hand, you don't want to be alone right now. And it might be, I don't know, comforting to have me around."

"It is comforting to have you around."

"Yeah? Do you mean as a friend or as more than a friend?"

I look into his eyes and it suddenly occurs to me that we are a family of brown-eyed people, except for blue-eyed Mona of course. Hank's eyes are brown, too, so the baby's eyes will be brown.

"Would you still give me hugs and tell stupid jokes if we were just friends?"

"Of course." He takes a sip of his soda, 7-Up. (He's always preferred the Uncola, since he was little.) "You really think my jokes are stupid?"

"In a good way."

"Oh."

"Jonathan, you know that even if I weren't pregnant, this is not exactly a romance that's built to last."

"I guess not. We're so different. And we still argue like brother and sister."

"Yeah. And even if we talked like Romeo and Juliet, even if this were the most romantic relationship I've ever had, our parents would put a stop to it as soon as they found out. And they would find out."

He sighs. "Yeah. So what do you want to do?"

I don't realize what I want until I say it out loud. "I want to go to bed with you. At least once before they come home."

He grins. "Really?"

"Why are you so surprised? I wanted it a week ago."

"Yeah, but a lot has happened in the past week."

"True. Including an awesome makeout."

"That was great!"

I smile. "Of course, at that time, you didn't want to rush into sex."

"Well, yeah. I mean, I still have doubts."

"Me, too. I think we'd be crazy not to have doubts. But aren't you going to always wonder? I mean if we don't do it."

"Of course."

"And now we have all of those condoms."

"Yeah, it was like Dr. Hollis was telling us to have sex."

"I think it was more that she knew she couldn't stop us, so she might as well make sure we were safe."

"I guess. Why did she give us so many?"

I laugh. "Jonathan, it's been awhile since I've dated an 18-year-old virgin, but the only guys who are hornier are 18-year-old ex-virgins."

"Oh. So I'm going to want sex even more once I have it?"

"That's been my observation."

"Then maybe we shouldn't start."

"Jonathan, you can have sex with other girls after me. You're a cute, sweet, smart, sort of funny guy. It's not like you'll never have a partner again."

"I guess." He looks down at his burger, although he doesn't seem as hungry now.

"What's wrong? That was a compliment."

"I don't know, Sam. It just feels weird to have a girl say right from the start that this has no future."

"I know. But I'm tired of thinking that a relationship will go on forever. Isn't it better to be honest from the start? No expectations."

"I guess."

"Come on, Snake-Boy, we're still going to be buddies afterwards. I'll have relieved you of your virginity, and you'll have helped me through my divorce, and six months from now we'll love each other like family again."

He shakes his head and then laughs. "Well, if you put it that way."

"And if the sex is bad or the whole thing feels too weird, then we just do it once. And if we like it, well."

"We have twenty-three more condoms?"

"Right."  
"That's like one a day. We might run out before Mom and Tony get back."

"I'll buy some more if I want a twenty-fifth time with you."

"Well, let's wait and see if you get a job. And I don't want you spending money on me all the time, especially when you're gonna have a baby."

"OK, you buy the third dozen of condoms."

"Deal."

We shake hands, despite the grease and the salt. He surprises me by not letting go.

"Sam," he says very seriously.

"What, Jonathan?"

"What if sex changes the way I feel about you?"

I sigh. "Sex does change things. I mean, I've never had it outside of wedlock, but that's what I hear."

He squeezes my hand. "Promise you won't hate me if I fall in love with you."

"Oh, Jonathan." I kiss him. "You are really are the sweetest geek I've ever kissed."

"Sweeter than Mason?"

"Yes." I kiss him again. "Who knows? Maybe I'll fall in love with you. I do have a tendency to jump without looking first."

"We'll blame it on your pregnancy hormones if you fall for me." He strokes my hair and I try not to think of the grease and salt. "OK?"

"Deal," I say. And we kiss again.


	24. Patience

"…il nostro giorno del matrimonio sarà tuo

Una festa, una casa, una reciproca felicità."

I have to resort to the pocket Shakespeare I picked up at the souvenir stand. They have it in the original English, as well as different editions for other "foreigners." I caught a word like matrimony," another that sounds like a feast or a festival, and I think "one reciprocal happiness" at the end. Tony reads over my shoulder, although his Italian is somewhat fluent, but I know it's just an excuse to snuggle closer.

"…our day of marriage shall be yours;

One feast, one house, one mutual happiness."

"Oh, 'casa' like in Spanish," I say. I know very little Spanish either though. When we went to Mexico, I was the one who could never remember "el baño." My French is much better.

"Yeah. But what does it mean?" Tony asks. I know by now that he wants to delve into what's below the surface of the doubly beautiful language.

"Well, he's talking to his friend Proteus. They're going to have a double wedding I think. And maybe share a house."

"After Proteus threatened to attack Valentine's girlfriend Silvia?"

I sigh. "I know, Shakespeare is very strange for a modern reader or listener. It's not just the words but the actions and the motivations."

"Yeah. Like _Merchant of Venice_. Is it anti-Semitic because of how Shylock is a stereotypical Jew? Or is it anti-anti-Semitic because of the speech he makes about how he's a human being?"

"Well, now you see why Shakespeare scholarship is such an active field."

"Yeah, it makes me grateful to be a History professor."

"Yes, no controversies there," I tease.

We kiss and then we get to our feet. The first day of the Napoletano Shakespeare Festival is drawing to a close. (That's really how you say it in Italian. "Neapolitan" is the only word that's different.) We've both enjoyed it, watching and discussing the plays, and our activities in between the plays of course, from eating to shopping to lovemaking.

We stroll back to our hotel, hand in hand. The sun hasn't yet set, a month after the summer solstice. Our hotel is at a good location, not far, which is helpful because we agreed to not rent a car in Italy, just get around by public transportation and our own feet.

It's not at all a fancy hotel, and not just compared to "our castle." Really, we were lucky to be able to book anything on relatively short notice, especially considering how popular this festival is. Our room is almost as tiny as our cabin on the cruise, again with just a bed, a dresser, and a sink. (We'll have to go down the hallway to shower, communally, but single-sex.)

But it is big enough for us. And, yes, it has occurred to me that an Italian conception does not have to happen on Ischia. Naples would be a fine place to start a baby, too.

But we've agreed to go dining and dancing tonight before any more lovemaking. Our "intermission" earlier was lovely but a bit rushed. (We got a little too turned on, kissing on the grass, and barely made it to the end of _Midsummer Night's Dream_.)

We change in our room, sneaking peeks at each other, like we once did over a hanging blanket in a larger but more run-down hotel room. Then, we were only beginning to acknowledge our attraction, while now we have of course seen each other undressed, touched each other undressed. But we still like to look.

Tony has an amazing body! Strong and fit, but also cuddly. And still as sexy to me as it was a decade ago, if not more.

"How do you get more beautiful every year?" he asks, when I'm standing in a strapless bra and panties.

"Oh, Tony!" I kiss him.

He parts my lips with his tongue and his hands stroke my back, easily undoing the clasp of my bra.

"Tony, I'm supposed to be getting dressed, not undressed."

"Oh, right." He redoes the clasp. "After dining and dancing."

"Yes, after."

Wendy asked me a few months ago, "How do you two keep the spark going after nine years? Herb's pilot light blew out after nine weeks."

I pointed out that it's not as if Tony and I have been able to touch each other all this time. I think the memory of all those years of trying to resist each other will never fade. In a way, we still can't get over being able to touch each other, whether it's a quick peck at the market (open-air in Ischia or Safeway at home), or making love whenever we have a chance.

Even now, there is obviously no rule that we have to leave this room tonight. We could stay here till the morning, or even skip the entire second day of the festival. But there's a certain spice in going out to a restaurant and then a nightclub, knowing the whole time that we are eager to be alone together.

When I told Wendy and Isabel the story of how the night after Tony and I declared our love for each other, we had a candlelit dinner in the living room, they both thought we'd been crazy. And that was before I got to the series of disasters that culminated in the sinking of my Jag.

"When Paul and I first got together, any time that Marci and David [her son, who's about Jonathan's age] were out of the house, we wouldn't waste time roasting ducks!"

"I don't roast ducks for Herb, whether or not we're alone."

I couldn't explain that for me and Tony, the courtship is important. Why should we give up dining and dancing and all the rest of the romance, just because we can make love? OK, there are times when we do rush into sex, like this afternoon, but if we have the opportunity for courting each other, we take it. Plus, Tony looks almost as cute dressed up as he does nude.

He finishes dressing before I do, then he helps me with my zipper, teasing that he's going to move it down rather than up. Then I straighten his tie and we kiss again.

"Signora Micelli, posso portare fuori in città?"

I understand enough of that to answer, "Sì."

And so my husband takes me out on the town. The restaurant and adjoining night club are in walking distance, but I can't walk far in these heels. (I can dance in them though.) I'm amused that the word for "taxi" is "taxi," but with a different pronunciation.

We hold hands along the way but it only takes a few minutes. Tony pays the fare and the tip. We go in and he gives his name to the maître d. Even though I'm paying for the most expensive parts of this vacation, I know that it's very important to Tony's male pride, particularly as an Italian-American in Italy, to do the traditional male things in public. It's also part of his chivalrous, gentlemanly side, like holding doors open for me.

Although I regard myself as a feminist (how could I not, as owner and founder of a successful ad agency?), I am also a romantic who wants to be courted, who wants to play lady to Tony's gentleman. When I first met him, I was afraid he would be some macho thug. After all, he scared off my date with a baseball bat! And certainly, there is that side to him. But he is also very sweet and gentle. He is masculine in a gentlemanly way, and gentlemanly in a masculine way. That tension, the jock in a tux as Mother once put it, is very sexy.

I certainly dated my share of men who looked nice in tuxedos, and suits, but none of them had anything like Tony's animal magnetism. Grant, Geoffrey, Andy, and the others looked classy at a Broadway show or the opera, but I didn't find myself wanting to tear off the tuxes and the suits, like I often want to with Tony.

Michael was different. A suit never looked right on him. He was meant to look like he was going to head off for the jungle. And I could never tame him.

Have I tamed Tony? I know his friends, even years ago, thought that he was "whipped," domesticated and maybe even emasculated by living in Connecticut, working for the "uptight career lady." What they've never understood is that this is a side of Tony that has always been there. And there is no contradiction between macho and sensitive for him. He just needed someone to bring it out in him, just like the professor in leather elbow-patches was inside the "youse guys ain't" Brooklyn boy.

My transformation has been more obvious. I have only to look at old photographs to see how I have blossomed under Tony's love and attention. My general look, from clothes to hair, is softer, simpler. At the same time, I have much more confidence, and not just at work. Being relaxed doesn't mean I don't care. It means I don't stress as much.

And here in Italy, I feel even more that way. Of course, I have to have a high-powered, successful career to support this relaxation. I know that. But there was a time in my life when I traveled and didn't see the sunsets. Like this one now bathing us in purples and roses as we stand by the window near our table.

I wait for Tony to pull out my chair but he says something to the maître d, who nods. Then we're led out onto the deck, where the view is even more amazing. It's like the Italian blue sea has been set on fire.

"Ti piace questo, Signora?" the man asks.

Without looking in my phrasebook, I would guess that that was about either a question, a quest, or cheese. But from the tone of his voice, I know he's asking if this pleases me. I nod and say, "Grazie."

He nods and goes to get our waiter.

"Tony, this is the most beautiful sunset I've ever seen. Even more beautiful than at our castle!"

He smiles. "It's the same sun, the same sea, the same company. Maybe it's just that you're a little less distracted than you usually are at sunset at the castle."

I blush. "Maybe." Usually by sunset, we're in bed, although far from sleep.

I trust Tony to order for me, since he knows the food and the language better than I do. (I'll admit that when I first hired him, I had the snobbish thought that a guy from Brooklyn wouldn't know about fine dining, but I was very wrong.) He chooses seafood for both of us. I smile when he translates "ciacianielli" as "baby fishes." They're fried in dough, very good.

When the wine comes, we toast to our honeymoon, which is also a toast to Italy and to ourselves. Then we toast Mother and the children, the ones we have and the ones we might have. (Well, probably only one together, although it would be wonderful to have the twins Tony used to want.)

Then Tony toasts, "To the happiest decade of my life."

"And mine."

After dinner, on his advice, I order, no, not Neapolitan ice cream, but "coda d'aragosta," or lobster tail (called that because of its shape). It's a pastry filled with French cream, and it's heavenly.

"Do you want any?" I offer.

He shakes his head. "Nah, I just like to watch you eat. You get such joy out of it."

I blush but manage to say, "Wait till I'm pregnant."

He laughs.

After he pays the bill, we go over to the nightclub. It's different styles different nights. Tonight it's ballroom, which is perfect. Tony is an amazing dancer. He makes me look graceful, and I used to be the Connecticut Klutz. Again, it doesn't make him a bit less masculine. He's graceful like Gene Kelly was, although I'm no Debbie Reynolds or Leslie Caron.

We glide across the floor. He'll sometimes spin me out, and then I'll return to his arms, where I belong.

It used to be, dancing was a way for us to touch each other, to be close, without being affectionate in other ways. Now that we have touched and caressed, and woven our bodies together (doing "the horizontal Mambo," as Philly Fingers once put it), I love dancing with him even more.

This whole evening feels like the most delicate form of foreplay. Even if we weren't going to bed afterwards, I would feel tingly, like I used to, when I knew that we couldn't go to bed afterwards.

We dance for an hour or so, till I feel like I've burned off the lobster tail. Then he puts his arm around my shoulders and guides me outside. His yell of "Taxi!" is more Brooklyn style than polished, but I still like that side of him.

We hold hands on the way back to the hotel. I'm imagining him caressing me, unzipping my dress. He squeezes my hand and I wonder if his mind is on a similar track. But the ride is short and we'll be back in our room soon.

And then we're back.

"Where were we?" he asks, as we step out of our shoes. "Oh, right."

He unzips my dress enough to unhook my bra. So I kiss him and he parts my lips with his tongue. We kiss as he cups my breasts and then squeezes them.

"I've been waiting all night, Angela."

"You always were a patient man, Tony."

"Sometimes I wish you were a little more impatient with my patience."

"But isn't it nice to get what you want after waiting?"

"Very nice."

He eases me onto the bed and caresses my dress right off me. Then he kisses my body as I lay here in my underwear. I try to be patient, but then I sit up, grab his tie, and kiss him as I undo his shirt. I think of all the times he used to walk around shirtless in front of me, and on behalf of my younger self I kiss and caress his chest and stomach. Then I find myself unable to stop, so I start undoing his belt.

"Oh, Baby!" he cries.

It's funny, we've been making love, and making out, so much in the past month or so, but there's something about doing this tonight, shifting from our more formal selves to our more passionate selves.

Soon we're both down to just underpants. We French-kiss as our hands run along each other's skin. And then our bodies press together, until the underpants are getting in the way too much, and we strip each other down.

And then he's inside me, filling me again and again. He fits me so well, like we were designed for each other. I don't mean the size or the shape, or not only. And it's not as if I never had satisfying sex before Tony. (Despite what Mother thinks.) But I have never had sex with anyone else that I loved so much, on every level. The physical parts are perfectly formed but if our personalities didn't fit together so well, this relationship certainly wouldn't have lasted a decade.

I hug my darling Tony with my whole body as I come, murmuring his name again and again. He waits for me to finish and then he lets himself come. (The man has amazing control!) Only when he's done, does he whisper, "Il mio bellisima Angela!" Then he kisses my hair and says, "Mio Angela dai capelli d'oro. My golden-haired angel."

"My highly praiseworthy Anthony," I say, and he smiles. I was looking up his name in a baby names book a couple months ago.

"My pleasantly shady Bower."

I laugh. I've never thought of myself as pleasantly shady before. Then I ask, "What does 'Micelli' mean?" I try to give it the Italian pronunciation, with the "Ch" sound.

"It means 'lucky in love.' "

I'm sure he just made that up, but I kiss him for it. "Then I'm glad I now have it as part of my name."

"And so will our bambinos."

I smile and kiss him again. We kiss until we fall asleep, tangled in each other.


	25. Pluperfect

Another thing Tony never covered in our talks: what to cook for your non-platonic still-married pregnant stepsister on the night she's coming over to deflower you. I decide on spaghetti, because it's easy to make but takes awhile, so I have lots of time to think. Plus, I'm assuming it'll be good for my niece-to-be.

Sam and I agreed that we wouldn't do it the same day she got the pregnancy results. It had been an eventful enough day already. So that's why we've waited till the next evening.

We also agreed that we'll do it in my bedroom. Yes, we made out in her (well, Grandma's) Jacuzzi, but neither of us feels comfortable having sex in the bed she shared with Hank. The only sexual history in my room is solo. Not that it won't be weird to sleep in there in the future, knowing what took place tonight, but I guess it would be weird to live with, wherever it happens. (And, yes, I know my verb tenses are all over the place, but things have gotten very pluperfect lately.)

I still can't believe it's going to happen. After all, I never even came close to having sex before this summer. And I never, ever would've predicted she'd be my first.

Yes, I'm nervous, of course, in a different way than when I went over to hot-tub with her. Then I didn't know what would happen. Now I do. I think.

I mean, I know the mechanics of sex. But I don't know what it feels like, physically or emotionally. And then because this isn't just ordinary first-time sex, because there are all these other factors, it's going to be strange. I'd love it if I could just think, _Cool, a hot babe is coming over to do me._ But I can't.

My outline still stands, only now of course her pregnancy has to be factored in. Physically, well, it's not really a factor in the first trimester, other than the not having to worry about getting her pregnant myself part of course.

Emotionally, I don't know. Do I see Sam differently now that she's going to be a mom? Yes and no. I mean, it's kind of abstract. Maybe I'm more protective of her now. I don't know.

I guess we've ruled out the possibility of it mattering "socially." Even if there had been a chance of us being an actual couple, that's not going to work with her carrying her not-yet-ex-husband's child. I know that Mom would be even less thrilled about my having a relationship with Sam under these circumstances. Obviously, I am too young to be on the road to stepfatherhood. And Tony would probably figure that Sam should concentrate on her baby.

I know I could call tonight off and Sam would understand. If she calls it off, I'll understand. But she's right, we would always wonder. And whether I get one night with her, or twenty-four, I want to see what it/they will be like.

She shows up as I'm straining the spaghetti. "Is that because I'm Italian?"

"Yeah, if you were Hungarian, it would be goulash."

"I envy Dad and Angela eating real authentic Italian food."

"Well, you just need to have a relationship that lasts ten years, and then maybe you could have an Italian honeymoon."

"If only things had worked out with Bobby, I could go next Spring."

"I forgot about Bobby. So he wasn't the sweetest geek you ever kissed?"

"I never kissed him. I was too busy being annoyed that Dad was kissing my teacher."

"What great chaperones."

"Yeah."

She sets the table as I bring over the food. I know not to apologize that it won't be as good as Tony's. That goes without saying. Anyway, I'm not exactly trying to get to her heart through her stomach.

"Sorry I didn't dress up," she says as we sit down.

"Oh. I didn't even think of it. I mean, it's not exactly like a date."

"No, not exactly."

"You still look pretty." She's got her hair in a ponytail, a T-shirt, and cut-offs, but she doesn't need to dress up to look good.

"Thanks. You look cute in an apron."

I forgot I was wearing it. Oh, well, it'll keep the sauce off my clothes I guess.

We don't talk much as we eat. Maybe we've said about all there is to say. Or maybe she feels as weird about tonight as I do.

She waits till we're done to ask, "Have you changed your mind?"

"Me? No, I still want to. Do you?"

"Yeah, I do. But if we're not both into it once we start making out, let's drop it, OK?"

"OK."

I can't help thinking that it would be weird to drop it after all the kissing and discussion. But if that's the direction this goes, OK then.

We get up to put the dishes in the washer, and I notice she's left a paper bag on the counter. "What's in there?"

"Two dozen condoms and a change of underwear."

"Well, that should get us through the rest of the week."

She laughs and then hugs me. "You're fun."

"Hey, wait till you see me in bed."

"I'm looking forward to it." I instantly get hard, making her grin and add, "And apparently so are you."

"Um, yeah."

She tilts her head up and we kiss. She slips her tongue into my mouth and I stroke her ponytail. Then she moves my other hand under her shirt so I can feel that she's not wearing a bra. I suck her tongue as I squeeze each breast.

Part of me is thinking, _I'm making out with Sam in the kitchen! The same kitchen we ate thousands of meals together in for years. Meals cooked by her father. _But on another level, I'm just thinking _Mmm, sexy woman! I want to be inside her!_

And then a third part of my brain, I guess the part I inherited from Mom and Grandfather Robinson, makes me pull away and say, "We need to put the dishes in the washer."

She laughs. "Now, Jonathan?"

"Well, I don't want to deal with it in the morning."

"Good point. There might be other things we want to do in the morning."

I groan, thinking of the erection I woke with the morning after she first kissed me, about five weeks ago. I never thought it would lead to this.

"That will take care of Condom #2."

"Yeah," I gasp.

"But let's clear the table so we can proceed to Condom #1."

I have never in my life loaded a dishwasher so quickly. I'm surprised I don't break the plates.

Sam seems amused. I wish I could play it cool, but I know I can't fool her. And she seems to want me despite my lack of smoothness.

She grabs her paper bag and says, "Let's go upstairs."

I nod, unable to think of anything intelligent to say. I rip off the apron and follow her through the swinging door.

Yes, it's weird to walk through our living room, up the stairs, and along the hallway. This house we both grew up in. Well, she mostly grew up in Brooklyn, but she finished growing up here. This is the only home I've ever known, not counting my dorm at MIT. Will this house ever seem the same to me after tonight? Even kissing her in the living room and the kitchen over the past three weeks hasn't prepared me for this mental shift.

And can I ever see Sam the way I did before? Could we actually go back to platonic friendship? After all, it survived the spontaneous erections she inspired unknowingly. Or does the attraction being mutual, even if temporarily, make that impossible?

We make it to my bedroom, although I feel like time has slowed down. Plus it's hard to walk fast when you're this hard.

She sets the paper bag on the floor by the bed and sits on the edge, smiling at me. Sam has an incredible smile: warm, flirty, and toothy (but not in an Osmond kind of way).

"What should I do?" I ask, too nervous to smile back.

She kicks off her sandals. (This time I'm barefoot.) "Sit next to me. That's a good start."

"OK." So I do. I'm sitting on my bed with Sam, which I've done before of course, but never like this.

She kisses me and this time I put my hand under her shirt of my own accord. She responds by putting her hand under my shirt, but along the back. She strokes my spine, and then takes my shirt off. So I take her shirt off.

"You have such beautiful breasts, Sam!"

"Thank you." Then she arches her back, tipping them upward and I move my head down to start kissing them.

"Let's lie down," she says.

So we do. I've decided by this point to follow her exact instructions. She knows how this all works.

She arches her back lying down and I lavish attention on her breasts until she gently grabs my head and says, "Come up here." So I kiss back up to her face and wait for my next instruction. "Lay back." So I do.

Then she lies on top of me, so light and yet so weighty in the sense of important. She kisses my nipples! They're not as sensitive as hers of course, but it feels really nice. And she spreads her legs and wiggles on me. My penis responds and thrusts at her, despite our shorts and underwear.

"Mmm, nice. I think you're gonna feel good in there."

"Oh God, Sam!" I don't know if she's teasing me or if this is all part of foreplay. Or maybe it's just more mind-melting makeout.

"May I touch your trouser-snake, O, King of the Reptiles?"

I laugh despite my arousal. "Of course."

She lays on her side and reaches for the zipper of my shorts. I feel like I could come just from all this, without even being inside her. She pulls down the zipper, pulls down the shorts, pulls down the boxers.

She smiles. "Does he snake-dance?"

"I think you could make him dance."

She strokes him.

"Sam, shouldn't I be getting you ready?"

She shakes her head. "You're about to burst. I'm going to play with you and then you'll last longer in me when we do it."

"Oh. OK. But won't we have to wait awhile for me to get hard again?"

"I really don't think that it'll be a long wait, Jonathan."

I blush. "Probably not."

Considering she doesn't have one of her own, Sam is really good at manipulating a penis. Hank was a very lucky man. And a very stupid one to leave her. The longer she does this, the more incredible it feels, like all my years of masturbation have been a pale preview of this.

And my mind is full of images of her body, even the parts I haven't seen yet. But I mostly think of her mouth and her breasts, those parts that I do know a little and like a lot.

"OH GOD, SAM!"

"Did that feel good, Geek?"

I don't mind the nicknames. She uses them sweetly.

I nod fervently, and she laughs. "Let me wash my hands and then you should probably clean up, too. The fluids."

"Right." I just lay on my bed, my head spinning, while she's gone.

Then when she returns, she kisses me, a soft, sweet kiss on the lips. "Just wash the areas where you spurted on yourself. That should be enough."

"OK." I sit up, feeling a little dizzy. I stumble to the bathroom, trying not to think of years of pounding on the door, annoyed at how long she took in there, doing her hair and her makeup and whatever else girls spend so much time on. This time, I think she just washed her hands and freed her hair from the ponytail.

I look in the mirror, expecting to see some change. I'm still a virgin, but less so. Then I get a washcloth and tidy up as best I can. I consider taking a shower, but I want to get back to Sam as soon as I can.

I almost faint in my doorway.

"Heart failure, Snake-Boy?"

"Uh huh."

It's too early for me to get hard again, but I'm sure my eyes are big, as they gaze upon that beautiful, smooth, creamy-yet-olive-skinned, and now naked body lying in my bed. I didn't know she would take off her cut-offs and panties in my absence. I guess I thought there would be more of a transition, more steps.

I gaze at her round hips and what lies between them (like a secret thought between parentheses). I can't believe she's going to let me be in the middle of that! I mean, yeah, we've been talking about sex for awhile now, but this is real. This is really real!

"Come here, Jonathan."

I return to my bed. "What do I do, Sam?"

"Kiss me, touch me."

So I do, French-kissing her as my hands squeeze her breasts. This time she guides one of my hands between her legs, and I'm startled by the moisture. I mean, I've read about it of course, but now I'm feeling it.

"Does that mean you came, Sam?" How could I have missed her coming?

She laughs. "No, it just means I'm getting ready. You need to make me more ready, Jonathan."

"How?"

She doesn't mock me for not knowing. I mean, I could guess what to do but what if what I've read doesn't apply to her?

So she says, "Another life lesson," and she guides that hand, showing me how to pleasure her.

"Can I suck your breasts at the same time?"

She moans and then tries to be teasing with, "Good initiative, Young Man."

"I like to think outside the box."

She laughs and then gasps as my mouth descends on her chest again, as my fingers curl to fit her, inside and out.

It takes me awhile to do it the way she needs. It's not like I'm a genius at this. I'm probably clumsy compared to what she's used to. On the other hand (no pun intended), she's been without this for a couple months, and I can tell that any release is welcome.

And finally, I actually make her come! I worry I won't be able to tell, but she has all the signs I've read about, from the flushed skin to the fast heartbeat (right under my ear) to, um, signs down below.

She doesn't call my name when she comes. Maybe she's afraid of slipping and calling me Hank. She just invokes, "Holy Mother of God!", making me tease, "You Catholic girls are all alike." Then she says, "Sweet, sweet dweeb."

"Can I be inside you now or is this enough for tonight?"

"Have you got another erection already?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"Aw, for me?"

"All for you, Sam."

"Let me get Condom #1."

So she does. She puts it on me because she has experience at this and because my hands are sticky. Then she lays down again.

"Sam, I don't know how to—"

"Sh, sh, it's OK. Lie on top of me and I'll put you in."

"OK," I whisper. Then I lie on her, trying to get our pelvises lined up at least. "I'm not too heavy, am I?"

"A skinny geek like you? No, you're fine."

Then she guides me into her, making it seem easy and inevitable, yet incredible.

"God, Sam! Oh, wow!"

"You like?"

"Oh, why don't people do this all the time?"

She laughs. "Not everyone has the opportunity. Plus, you know, most people have jobs."

"Oh, it's so good in here! Sam, your body is so warm! I mean, it's hot but it's also warm."

She smiles up at me. "Thank you. You're pretty warm yourself."

"What do I do now? Should I thrust?"

"That would be nice." She sounds amused but patient.

"Sam, what if I don't move right? What if doesn't feel good to you?"

"You'll get better with practice. And I'm going to talk you through this if I have to."

So she does, until I come, feeling like this is the most wonderful thing I've ever done.

"Was that OK?" I ask as I lay next to her afterwards. "I mean for a virgin geek."

"Best virgin geek I ever had."

"Um, thanks."

"Kiss me, Jonathan," she says, so I do. And as we kiss more and more deeply, she guides my hand between her legs and I help her finish ten minutes after I did.


	26. Always Magic in the Air

Day Two of the Shakespeare Festival apparently has "government" as the theme. We skipped _Coriolanus_ in the morning, since neither of us has read it or is that curious about it. Apparently, it's about a Roman general who unsuccessfully goes into politics. (He's no Ike.) Angela and I agreed that we would rather spend a lazy morning in bed.

We do go to _Julius Caesar _and _Anthony and Cleopatra _of course. We both saw Burton &amp; Taylor's _Cleopatra _when we were kids. It was the same summer we first kissed actually.

"My Y Camp put us all on a bus and took us into town."

"My camp did that for us! Now that you mention it, I do remember those rowdies throwing refreshments at us."

"Well, it was a long, boring movie."

"Yes, four hours. I had to take two bathroom breaks."

I shake my head. "You and your tiny bladder."

"Wait till I'm pregnant."

"Right." I forgot that part. It's strange to think of going through all that pregnancy stuff, morning sickness and the whole deal, with Angela. I mean, it's been over twenty years since I went through it with Marie, and I was gone some of the time, for away games. This time it'll be different. This time I'll be there to take care of my wife.

"Do you think it was before we kissed?"

"What was?"

"_Cleopatra_."

"Yeah, I don't think I'd distinguished you from the other tall blondes with their noses in their air."

"I did not have my nose in the air!"

"No, I guess not. Or you wouldn't have later distinguished me as the cutest of the short Italians."

We kiss but I break it off to laugh.

"What?" she demands.

"Get out your pocket Shakespeare, I may've heard that wrong."

She does and I repeat the lines that made me laugh, Cleopatra to Mark Anthony, "Io avrei avuto i tuoi pollici ; tu dovresti sapere/ C'erano un cuore in Egitto."

She reads aloud, "I would I had thy inches; thou shouldst know/ There were a heart in Egypt." Then she shakes her head and whispers, "You have such a dirty mind!"

I whisper a line from a little later, Antony's "You'll heat my blood: no more."

She giggles a little but replies with Cleopatra's "You can do better yet; but this is meetly."

So of course I whisper, "Now, by my sword—"

And she answers, "And target."

It's tempting to read the whole scene aloud like this, flirting with Shakespeare's words. But then we remember we're supposed to be watching other people perform. Judging from the pair onstage, this is not the French bedroom farce we were turning it into. Too bad.

After that play, we resist going back to our hotel. Last night it was fun to draw things out, to court and flirt again. So instead of going to our room, we go to a pizzeria and then stroll along the water, hand in hand.

The last play for today is _La Tempesta__. _And to my surprise, I start crying. I'm not even sure why at first and then I realize. It is about government, in the sense that Prospero is the rightful Duke of Milan. But it's also about a widowed father letting his only daughter fall in love and find her happiness.

Angela squeezes my hand, understanding. I'm not tearing up for the same reasons I did at Sam's wedding, when I remembered her starting adolescence and I thought that that time had officially ended. And I hoped she could be happy with Hank, as Prospero wishes the best for Miranda and Ferdinand.

But Hank wasn't the first young man that Sam had ever set eyes on. "O nuovo mondo che dispone di tali persone in esso!" It was young love, but it wasn't first love. Not to say that the marriage would've worked if there had been no Matt, Jesse, Todd, Chad, or the others. In fact, I think Sam should've dated more guys and for more years. It's easy to have a happily ever after in a play, but it's tougher in real life.

At dinner afterwards (pasta this time, spaghetti alle vongole for me, ziti with Neapolitan ragù for Angela), she surprises me by saying, "I wonder what my father would say if he knew I'd married the first boy I kissed."

I laugh. "Yeah, maybe Sam will end up with Bobby, who knows." Although they probably didn't kiss. I know they didn't while I was chaperoning them the night of the dance.

"Didn't Mason used to say he wanted to marry Sam years later?"

"Yeah, wait till all her exes find out she'll be back on the market in a few months."

"Poor Tony."

"Oh, right. Back to dad duty." I shake my head. "I'm getting too old for this."

She frowns. "What if we have a daughter?"

"Well, that's different. We'll have ten or twelve years before we have to deal with the whole dating thing. And you did help me through puberty last time, so I guess you can again."

"I'll try."

"What if we have a son? Are you going to be protective of him like you were with Jonathan?"

"You mean overprotective, don't you?"  
"Hey, that would be the pot calling the kettle black. But, yeah."

"Well, I think I'll be in a different place in my life by the time this baby is a teenager. You have to remember, I felt like a working single mother even before Michael left. I overcompensated out of guilt. Plus, Jonathan was an only child. Even when you and Sam moved in, I felt like more of an aunt than a mother with her."

I nod. "Yeah, I think it was easier for me to take on the parent role with Jonathan because he was younger and that was sort of what you hired me to do."

"It'll be interesting to see what it'll be like to have a child that's equally yours and mine."

"Yeah, and from Day One."

"Yes."

I can't help wondering, are we at Day Negative 270 or thereabouts? Will we have a Neapolitan-made baby? Or will it be Ischian?

Well, we won't try again for conception just yet. I'm taking my lady dancing first.

Tonight the nightclub is playing '60s oldies, and I grin when "On Broadway" comes on as we walk through the front door. I lead Angela out on the dance floor and pick up where I left off about five years ago, teaching her "my dance" to this, dips and all.

We'd come back after the Cards reunion. That was a crazy weekend, involving my old flame Betty, a fake marriage to Angela, a makeup kiss or two, and a little dancing. And when we returned, I wanted to teach her the dance I used to do with Betty. The sexual tension was high between us, in a very different way than it'd been with Betty, because it meant more. It wasn't just physical.

And the kids walked in on me dipping Angela. Tonight though, there are no interruptions. Our kids are grown up and thousands of miles away. And our bodies know how to move together more than they did then.

Angela is more confident and comfortable in her body anyway. At that point, she'd loosened up some, but less than she would in the next two or three years. A few months later, she'd go wild in Jamaica, but it took awhile for her to be subtly sensual in everyday life. By the time we were dating, it was no longer a matter of me getting the uptight career lady to relax. Angela carried herself like she knew how wonderful she was in every regard.

And she could kiss me so that I'd forget what I was saying or doing. She knew her power, but didn't abuse it.

It's not quite the same thing, but after we knew each other a couple years, she could touch my arm when I was angry, and I was soothed. You see, it's not just her affectionate or sexual touch that can change my mood. But, yes, when she does touch me in a romantic way, it's like I have to respond. Hell, she once played footsies with me in the kitchen and I had to splash my face with a glass of water! And footsies had never done anything for me before then.

But it's not one-way. Angela melts into me. I can give her a massage or a hug, or hold her a certain way on the dance floor, and she softens and relaxes.

My friends don't get how I could go so many years wanting Angela and not bedding her, and still want her after I had bedded her. What they don't get is that, while I never knew for sure that I would take her to bed, I knew that if it happened, we would be perfect for each other. And that we would want each other just as much years later. When our twentieth anniversary rolls around, I will be very surprised if we don't still want each other just as much, though age may've taken its toll on our bodies and our energy.

Even the way Angela and I talk, including our fights, is flirtation or even foreplay. One time, when we were involved with other people no less, we were in the kitchen finishing each other's sentences about dinner so perfectly, back and forth, give and take, that Mona said, "Anybody want a cigarette?"

So I knew the sex would be great, worth the wait, although, yeah, I guess we could've made the wait shorter. But what I'm saying is, it's not like the wait wasn't sexy in itself.

Not that I would ever go back to that. Waiting a few hours, or when necessary a few days, is all I can take now that we're married. Like, if one of us has a cold, we both get pouty trying to abstain, and we usually give in by the last day, germs be damned.

So, while it's great to be dancing with my lady, I don't want to do this all night, and neither does she. We again catch a taxi back to the hotel, and if it were a longer ride, my hand wouldn't be able to keep from moving up from her knee.

Alone in our little room though, my hands are everywhere on her. She softens and relaxes, as she hardens and tenses me. There is only one way, well, only one thoroughly satisfying way, to release this tension. I've got to plunge into her sweet softness again and again, whispering her name.

As for her, at one point she quotes Miranda, "All the more it seeks to hide itself, the bigger bulk it shows."

I laugh and then do my best to make her incoherent, or at least temporarily unable to turn great literature into double entendres.


	27. Processing

My first thought when I wake up is _I cheated on Hank_. I know, Hank cheated first, and we're on our way to a divorce. But it is less than two and a half years since I promised to forsake all others, and now another man has been inside me.

Not that I regret it. It was good last night. Yeah, Jonathan is awkward and inexperienced but he's very trainable and enthusiastic. And I knew going into it that he wouldn't be a stud who would immediately give me multiple orgasms.

Also, it was really nice to be with someone again, and not just in a "getting my ashes hauled" (as Philly Fingers would say) kind of way. Jonathan is sweet and fun, in a different way than Hank was.

And, um, this is kind of embarrassing, but we fit together better, physically I mean. It's partly that Jonathan isn't as tall as Hank, but, um, other proportions and shapes are more suited to me. Not that Hank and I were a horrible mismatch and, yes, I know that the female body is adaptable. But Jonathan just felt really right in there, even his fingers. And that's a little scary, because that's not something I could've foreseen.

I roll over and look at him, asleep except for the part that I know will be wide awake. I don't know if I see him differently now. I mean, he's the same person he always was, except, yeah. This happened between us. And if the awake part is any indication, he would be very happy to have it happen again.

I want it, I want him. But I'm a little scared of that, and of whether this means we are now a couple, or that this is at least an ongoing thing. And will we be able to give it up when Dad and Angela return?

I don't want to give it up yet though. And their return is weeks away. Maybe we should keep going till we have to stop.

He opens his eyes and smiles at me. "Hey, Sam."

"Hey, Jonathan."

"Thank you for last night."

I smile. "You're welcome." I kiss him and he immediately starts stroking my breasts. Yeah, there's no doubt he wants to continue.

"Can we do it again?"

I laugh at his directness. "Yeah, but I'm not as good to go as you are."

"Does this help?" He moves one hand between my legs.

My body, especially there—oh God, right there!—immediately responds to him. I know where her alliances lie, traitor to Hank that she is. Not that Hank wants her anymore, but I think some part of my heart has been waiting for him to come back, no matter what my mind and other parts say.

"Mmm, Sam, I like when you do that."

"I like when you do that." I don't have to be as specific as I was last night. He's always been bright, and I guess this is enough like science that he can learn it quickly.

He whispers in my ear, "Sam, I really want to be inside you again."

"OK!" I gasp.

So Condom #2. I put it on him and he mounts me again. He's more confident this time, although he still asks me questions, till it becomes too hard to talk. He goes faster and comes faster than last night.

"Sorry!"

"We'll consider that foreplay," I tease.

"Do you want me to do stuff to you while we're waiting for me to get hard again?"

"Yeah, it would pass the time."

"Do you want a hickey?"

I laugh, remembering him giving himself one on the arm, after Todd bit my neck. "Nah, I've got job interviews coming up."

"Oh, right." But he does do non-skin-breaking nibbles on my neck as he teases my nipples with his hands.

"You really like my tits, don't you, Jonathan?"

He groans. We've been using pretty clean language with each other so far. I've even been using Latin-based words instead of the four-letter words I learned in Brooklyn, when I'm describing what I want him to do.

"Yeah! They're so pretty, so soft, so sexy!"

And then he moves his mouth down and starts sucking them, caressing each one when it's not its turn to be being sucked. I start to get a bit squirmy, so he moves his other hand back between my legs. This time he keeps going till I come, twice! I pull his spiky hair as I come the second time, and he groans.

He lifts his head. "Sam, I'm getting hard again."

"Yeah? Lie down."

So he does. He's not quite at full, but he is on his way. "Condom #3?"

"Yeah, I think so. Sam, what if we run out?"

I laugh. "We are not having sex 23 times today. We'll get out to the grocery store or the drugstore before we run out, I promise."

He blushes. "No, I didn't mean today."

"Good." I get the next condom and slide it on him, since he's hard enough. Then I mount him and he immediately stiffens completely. I can feel the difference as he fills me.

"Oh, you on top, Sam?" he says, like he can't believe this, and he finds it very sexy.

"Yeah, me on top, Jonathan."

I ride him, slowly, carefully, looking down at his amazed, slightly crooked smile and big brown eyes. I make myself face that I am doing this to another man than Hank. And that I like it. That I love it.

"Sweet sexy Sam," he murmurs, and then he reaches up and cups one of my breasts. Then the other hand shyly cups my butt.

I come again. I speed up and try for another orgasm. It comes easily. This is so scary and so wonderful! His hands squeeze me as I come and I just want him to hold me and me to hold him and for this to go on and on.

So maybe we should stop. I climb off him and lie down. I want to talk about what I'm feeling, but he misunderstands and he mounts me again, and I don't stop him because I want this, I want it more than I should, but I'm taking it anyway. Even though it can't go on forever.

I cup his butt, his skinny geeky butt, and it's tighter and firmer than I expected and I come yet again, a few seconds before he does.

"Sorry, I need to work on lasting longer."

"It's OK. Let's just cuddle for awhile."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

We haven't cuddled lying down yet. It feels more taboo than sex, despite all the hugging we've been doing. And wouldn't you know it? Our bodies fit perfectly for this, too. The height difference matches up just right and my body just feels happy next to his, our skin touching in so many places.

"Sam, is it always this good? I mean, I know I probably suck as a lover—" We both laugh. "Let me rephrase that."

"No, I know what you mean. You're definitely new at this, but, yeah. Something's going on here."

"Yeah. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, not yet. Let's just hold each other, not talk."

"OK."

"How come you don't argue with me in bed?"

"Um, because I'm having the time of my life?"

"Right."

"Do you want me to argue?"

"No, not in bed."

"OK. Because I can if you want."

"Jonathan, arguing to please me is not exactly going to convince me you're not too cooperative."

"Well, I just figure you're the expert. I mean, not the expert but, um."

"The experienced one."

"Yeah. Plus so far it's leading to great sex, so why argue?"

I kiss his cheek. "OK."

He yawns. "Sam, I'm really sleepy. Could we nap for awhile?"

"OK, but don't stop holding me."

"Sam, are you OK? Are you weirded out or something?"

"Yes, but not how you think."

"How I think?"

"I mean not about you being my stepbrother. And not even about you not being Hank. But I'm, just, I don't know processing."

"Does the cuddling help?"

"Yeah. It does."

He yawns. "I'll hold you as long as you want. You feel good next to me, your skin. Not just sex."

"Yeah."

"When I wake up, can we use Condom #4?"

"You are an insatiable little geek, aren't you?"  
"Not that little."

"No, not that little."

The hand that's not stroking my hair teases my inner thighs. "I think you're a little insatiable yourself, Samantha Micelli."

"Jon-a-than!" I startle myself. I sound like Dad when he splits Angela's name into syllables. Are we playing out some gender-flipped version of our parents' romance? Is that why this feels so natural, despite its weirdness? No, I think this is something very different, although I don't know what.

"Wake me when you want #4." And he falls asleep, but he still holds me.

Maybe I'll nap, too, if I can shut off my mind. I mean, don't forget, I still have all the pregnancy thoughts to occupy me, not to mention wondering when and if I'll get a job interview. But it does feel really nice in Jonathan's arms, and it's not as if I can't think later.

I'm starting to drift off when I hear a knock and then the unmistakable tones of the one and only Mona Rockwell Robinson asking, "Jonathan, how do you want your eggs?"


	28. Tame

Tony and I have an argument over Shakespeare. We skipped the first play of the day again, to have another lazy morning in bed. This time we missed _Cymbeline_, but from my pocket text, it seems to be about jealousy and revenge, which sets the tone for the rest of the day.

In fact, the next play is _Othello_. Tony and I have both been prone to jealousy at different times, justified and not, so this is uncomfortable for us to watch. Obviously, we were never violently jealous, but we're quite familiar with "il mostro dagli occhi verdi," the green-eyed monster.

That's not the play we have the argument about. Next is up is _La Bisbetica Domata_, or _The Taming of the Shrew_. The jealousy and vengeance are in the beginning sisterly, since Katharina is jealous of her sweet-seeming and popular younger sister Bianca. She's cruel to her but it's played for laughs, as is her cruelty to others. Yes, she's a shrew.

And then comes her tamer, Petruchio, played here as the ultimate macho Italian man, in a way that Robert Andrew Holmby III, however handsome and arrogant, was far too WASPy to capture in my college production. (I was too shy to go onstage, so I was props mistress.) I get that Petruchio treats Kate the way she has treated others, but he takes it too far, starving and humiliating her.

I manage to bite my tongue while we watch, but I don't feel like snuggling with Tony or even holding hands, as we have been, even during _Othello_.

Afterwards, we go to a friggitoria. No, it's not what sounds like, although the word amuses Tony and would amuse me in a better mood. It's a fry-shop, a little like they have in England, but we get crocchè di patate, which are mashed potatoes with herbs, cheese, and salami, all covered in breadcrumbs and fried. They're delicious! And nothing like fast food.

The problem is, it's not really food that should be eaten when you're arguing. (OK, I'm not sure what should be.) I don't want to argue. I don't want to talk about the play at all. However, we've been discussing all the other plays, even the ones we've skipped, so it's a hard habit to break.

"Uh, so, what'd you think?"

I shrug and take another bite of my potato.

"I knew we should've skipped that one. It's just, you said the other day that Shakespeare is something we can't watch with modern eyes."

I can't help it, I exclaim, "Tony, even at the time, what Petruchio did to Kate should've been banned by the Geneva Convention! Or the Renaissance equivalent."

"Hey, come on, Angela, he didn't do anything to her she didn't do to her sister and everybody else."

"That doesn't make it right!"

"He was just showing her what it was like."

"And what gave him the right to teach her a lesson?"

"What right? He was her husband!"

"Oh? So if I were a shrew, you would've tamed me?"

"Angela, those were different times. And I did tame you."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"And you tamed me."

I shake my head, remembering my thoughts on his domestication a couple days ago. "I wasn't taming you. And I really hope that wasn't your intention with me."

"OK, we civilized each other. Do you like that better?"

"I suppose. How was I uncivilized?"

"All right, still not the right word. But you were bossy, in a really insecure way. You ordered me and your other employees around sometimes. You didn't consider our feelings. I mean, you weren't a bully like Katharina, but you know."

I nod and sigh. "You're right. I was insecure, and I did overcompensate for it. Being a woman in what was a very male world of advertising when I started, I had to show I was as tough as the guys. And I had to be that way with Jim Peterson, because that's all he understood. But I'm not that way with the staff at my own agency."

"Right. They know you're boss, but more like Ike or JFK, not like Nixon."

"I was not as bad as Nixon!"

"No, not usually. But he felt like an outsider, and so did you."

"Ah."

"As for you taming or civilizing me, well, I was tough with Jim Peterson because if he had said filth like that about Marie or any other woman I cared about back in Brooklyn, then that's what I would've done. But I had to learn that there are other ways of defending you. You don't always want me tossing guys out into the snow, or threatening them with baseball bats."

I smile. "No, not always. But I had to learn the chivalry behind it, to understand that you weren't just being macho for machismo's sake. It was a way of showing you cared."

"Well, yeah. Maybe not when I threatened Grant. I hardly knew you then. But I think you've always brought out the protective instinct in me. Yeah, I know you're brave and strong, but you're also so innocent and girlish and vulnerable sometimes."

I nod. "I am. And I do like it when you're protective, because I never feel like you're diminishing me. Like when I was unemployed, I cried in your arms, and I felt stronger after."

He kisses me. "Good. That's what I want to give you."

"Oh, Tony." We kiss again.

"So no more literary discussions?"

"Well, there's just one more play. And we'll try to keep the discussion civilized."

He chuckles. "OK."

The last play is, appropriately enough, _All's Well That Ends Well_. Although a comedy, it's disturbing in its own way. Bertram refuses to be a true husband to Helena, whom the king has married him off to, unless she bears his child and wears his family ring. He leaves for Italy but she follows him and tricks him into going to bed with her, thinking she's someone else. The play "ends well" in the sense that she does get his ring and his child, and so he acknowledges her as his true wife. The title seems to imply the ends justify the means.

Tony doesn't bother trying to defend this one. As soon as he hears, "Il re è un mendicante , ora il gioco è fatto: Tutto è bene finito , se si vince questa tuta" ("The king's a beggar, now the play is done: All is well ended, if this suit be won"), he gets to his feet and picks up our overnight bags, although the King's speech isn't quite over.

He says, "Come on, we've got a train to catch." So we head back the way we came three weeks ago—the train, the ferry, and then across the bridge, back to our castle.

"Castle sweet castle," he says in the entryway.

I laugh. "Yes, very sweet."

"Angela, the festival and all that was fun but let's not do any more side trips the rest of our stay, OK?"

"OK. There's not much more than a week left anyway."

He shakes his head. "The time has gone too fast."

"I know. But we can't honeymoon forever."

"Who says we can't?" He drops our overnight bags on the floor and picks me up, then starts to carry me up three flights of stairs!

"Tony, shouldn't you be saving your energy?" It's partly a tease and partly concern. After all, he's in great shape for a man of his age, but he is, well, a man of his age.

"It's fine, Angela," he pants. I'm starting to regret all those heavy Neapolitan meals. And after two flights, he says, "Uh, Angela, would you mind if we used a different bedroom?"

"No, I don't mind."

So he takes me to the nearest one. It doesn't have our things in it, but the bed is made of course. For the moment.

He sets me on the bed and then starts kissing and undressing me.

"Maybe I haven't tamed you," I tease.

"You'd better not ever tame this side of me."

"Don't worry, I've got a side to match it."

And then, as if we're starved for each other, we strip each other down within a minute and run our hands all over each other's skin. I realize that, while I don't love him just because he's Italian, somehow being surrounded by Italians these past few days has reminded me of the Italian-ness I love in him. His dark eyes and hair, his Roman build, his Roman nose, and his olive skin. And his passion, his warm, sexy passion!

I know it's a cliché to say he devours me with his kisses, but sometimes he does. Sweet, greedy kisses everywhere, making my skin turn pink. The sweetest kiss is the one he gives me as he enters me. This time, we keep kissing as we make love. Even the sex is like kissing, although not with mouths.

It's been a long day and we fall asleep afterwards. Our usual room can wait till tomorrow. And, yes, all's well that ends well, except we are ending only the day, and our holiday within a holiday.


	29. Scrambled

I had the weirdest dream: Grandma was making me breakfast! I don't think she's done that since I was in preschool.

I wake up and want to tell Sam. That sounds like it's a dream, that Sam is in my naked in my bed and we've had sex three times! But when I open my eyes, Sam has her finger to her lips. Then I hear "Jonathan, are you awake?"

"Oh God, it's real!" I whisper to Sam. She nods. Then I clear my throat and say, "Grandma, is that you?"

"No, it's Martha Stewart."

Sam looks amused, but I shake my head.

"Hey, Grandma, welcome back!" I call, as I jump out of bed and scramble into my pajama bottoms and robe.

"Thank you. It's good to be back."

"Uh, I thought you weren't due back till next month," I say, as I fasten my robe and go to the door, and as Sam dives under the covers.

"Well, I thought it would hold up film production if I stuck around and strangled Norman."

"Oh." I smooth down my bed-head with the back of my less sticky hand and then I open the door, slightly. "Hey, good to see you."

She gives me a once-over and that's the moment I know I'm dog-meat. She'll see it in my eyes. "Good to see you, Dear. Is Sam around?"

I am so dead! "Uh, Sam?"

"Yes, Samantha Micelli-Thomopolous. Your stepsister? The girl from Brooklyn with the wicked slide into second?"

"Uh, yeah, we've met. She's probably in her apartment."

"No, I went there first, to check on her."

"Check on her?"

"She is going through a divorce."

"Oh, right, yeah."

"But she wasn't home."

"Maybe she went for a drive somewhere."

"No, her car's still there."

"Maybe she went for a walk."

"Maybe. Well, if you see her before I do, ask her how she wants her eggs."

"Yeah, I'll do that. Um, I want mine scrambled." Like my head, like my life.

"You got it, Kid." She gives me a quick hug. "And, Jonathan?"

"Yeah, Grandma?"

"Please shower before you come downstairs."

I'm probably blushing from head to toe. I can't reply, so I just nod.

Then she goes into Sam's old room, Grandma's room since Sam married Hank. She probably wants to unpack, or maybe change out of her travel clothes. She looks sharp like always. She has the outfit for any occasion, including almost catching her grandson fooling around with her step-granddaughter.

I shut the door, turn, and see Sam's head peeking out of the covers.

"I don't know about my eggs, but I do know we are toast."

I gesture that she should be quiet because Grandma is next door. She mouths, "Oh," and sits up, but with a blanket pulled up over her beautiful and distracting chest. I go back to the bed, sitting on the foot.

"What are we going to do?" I whisper.

She whispers back, "Shower and get dressed. But not till she goes downstairs."

"You think we should tell her?"

"Jonathan, she knows. And she'll be better about it than Dad and Angela will."

I nod. She's right on both counts. I just didn't want Grandma to find out like this.

There's so much I want to say to Sam, but we can't really talk now. And we'll have to talk to Grandma first. I go back to the door and listen till I hear Grandma leave her room and go downstairs. I look at Sam and ask, "Do you want to shower first?"

She gets out of bed and comes towards me, naked and gorgeous. "You don't want to share a shower?"

She's standing too close and I'm hard again and this is so crazy. "Sam, I'd love to, but we can't!"

"Relax, Snake-boy, I'm just teasing."

"OK."

"I'll go first and you can picture me and then you can take a cold shower."

"Thanks."

"I do want you to take off your robe though."

"Sam!"

"I need to borrow it."

"Oh, OK." I, well, disrobe and she smiles seeing me half-naked and hard again.

She shakes her head. "Guys are amazing."

"And girls are unbelievable!"

"Thank you," she says, although it wasn't necessarily a compliment, then takes the robe and slips it on. It's long on her, but there's still enough of her skin exposed to drive me crazy.

"Just go!"

"OK, but I'll be back." She blows me a kiss as she slips past me and out the door.

I put my head in my hands and wonder how I'm going to get through the rest of the day. Screw that, how am I going to get through the rest of the summer?

Her shower is quick. There were times when she'd oversleep and she could get ready in like five minutes. Tony trained us well. I suddenly picture him saying, "Let's hit it, let's move it, let's do it!" And I shake my head.

"It's all yours," she says when she returns. She reaches into her paper bag and takes out really sexy panties, with not much material, but what there is looks shiny yet soft. "Jonathan?"

"Yeah, right, sorry." I stumble out of my room and to the bathroom, like I did, what was it, twelve hours ago? Right after she gave me the hand-job.

Well, this one I'll have to do myself, and quickly….

…That's better. Yeah, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Well, some things.

When I get back to the bedroom, Sam has put on her cut-offs (presumably with the sexy panties underneath) and one of my old shirts. It's something I outgrew a few years back, a give-away Mom got at an advertising convention, promoting _Back to the Future, Part III_.

"I hope you don't mind. I didn't bring an extra shirt and this was the only ones of yours that wouldn't be too big on me."

"It's fine." It's not too long on her (I was 14 when I got it), but it is a little tight. Maybe I should suggest she wear something baggier.

"What are you gonna wear?"

I've got just a towel around my waist. "I don't know. You're the fashion diva."

"Do you have anything white?"

"Very funny, Sam."

"Maybe the robe again. With a pipe for that Hugh Hefner touch."

"Come on."

"Jonathan, just put something on. Something ordinary. Mona knows and if we don't get downstairs soon, she might burn the eggs."

"She might do that anyway."

"Who knows? Maybe she's secretly been a brilliant chef all these years and she was just too lazy to tell us."

"No, trust me on this, Sam. My grandmother can't cook."

"Does that mean she won't be baking cookies for us later?"

I laugh and shake my head. "You pick out a shirt for me and I'll do the rest of the outfit."

"OK. I haven't dressed a guy in months. This should be fun."

"Yeah, Hank was a socks &amp; sandals kind of guy before you made him over, wasn't he?"

"No, it was brown socks with black shoes." She shudders and I laugh.

I put on sweatpants but no socks or shoes, since we probably won't be going outside. Sam has her sandals on, probably in case she needs to make a quick escape. And in fact she does say, "Oh, I know! I'll be right back." Then she dashes out of the room. After a couple minutes, I hear her walking over my head, in the attic.

She comes back with a small box of T-shirts. She holds one up and I snort. It's a Petite with Madonna's "Like a Virgin" on it.

"I don't think so."

"How about this one?" She holds up an XL for the University of New Mexico.

"You stole Matt's shirt?"

"I didn't steal it! We were engaged!"

"Isn't a ring more traditional?"

She shakes her head. "It was a memento, something to remember him by."

"And you kept it after you broke up?"

"It was in the attic," she says defensively.

"What else have you got in there? One of Jesse's Greenpeace shirts?"

She blushes and nods.

"Just throw me one of Hank's Muppet shirts and let's be done with this."

She sets down the box. "OK, never mind. I know!" She rummages through my chest of drawers and takes out a white dress shirt and a tie.

"Sam, I'm gonna be interrogated by my grandmother, not going on a job interview!"

"Trust me on this, Jonathan. Put on dress slacks. And underwear. And socks and nice shoes."

I sigh, but I did promise to follow her instructions. And she knows even more about fashion than about sex, but then she's cared about it for a lot longer.

When I'm dressed, she nods approvingly. I look in the mirror. "Sam, I look like I should be going door to door asking people if they've given any thought to the afterlife."

"Exactly. Now give me a couple minutes to raid your mom's closet and I'll meet you in the living room."

"Uh, OK." I have no idea what she's up to. I mean, we should be preparing a serious case to defend our relationship, and she's treating this like a game. On the other hand, I guess this is better than having the conversation with Grandma when we're not fully dressed.

I do what I can with my hair, trying to make it look as respectable as the rest of me. Well, except my eyes. They give everything away. I'd put on sunglasses, but it would spoil the effect. Plus I'd probably look even guiltier, with shades at breakfast.

I notice Mom and Tony's door is closed. I hope she's choosing one of the conservative dresses Mom wore before she fell in love with Tony, although it would be very long on Sam. I think of knocking, but I decide to let Sam surprise me.

I head downstairs, hoping Grandma won't be in the living room. She's not. And Sam shows up a minute later, with pinned-up hair and one of Mom's power outfits. The skirt is just above the knee on Mom, so it's a more respectable length on Sam.

"You like?"

"You look like a lawyer."

"Perfect."

"And I'm your client?"

"Something like that. Come on, let's go get our burnt eggs."

I want to take her hand, but that's probably not a good idea. So I just follow her into the kitchen.

Grandma is still in her travel outfit, except she's changed into more comfortable shoes. Oh, and she's wearing the apron I tore off last night.

"Well, don't you two look nice! Let me guess, Samantha. You've been practicing job interview skills together, and it got late, so Jonathan suggested you just sleep over."

"No, actually, Mona, I took your grandson's virginity."  
"How nice for you both. Is scrambled OK, for you, too, Dear?"

Sam and I look at each other and then I say, "Um, Grandma, aren't you going to ask us a million questions?"

She sets down the spatula and sighs. "Jonathan, in the cab to LAX, the cabbie told me about problems with his teenagers. The lady in the plane seat next to mine told me about problems with her daughter. The cabbie from JFK told me about problems with his son. So if you don't mind, I'd like us to all have a pleasant brunch, where I tell sparkling anecdotes about Hollywood. We can save a discussion of family affairs for later."

Sam and I both wince at her choice of words, but we mumble, "Yeah, sure." We take seats at the table, not next to each other of course.

And Grandma does tell sparkling Hollywood anecdotes while she cooks and then eats with us, sitting in the middle. We listen and laugh and shake our heads at the appropriate moments, not saying much.

Sam does interrupt a story about Norman meeting Cher to say, "I told you Mona could cook!"

Grandma laughs. "I'm not exactly a master chef."

"I don't know," I say. "Eggs, bacon, oatmeal, and fruit cups. That's more elaborate than anything we've managed this summer."

"Yes, it's clear that there have been no grown-ups around."

Sam and I both blush, and suddenly I feel like we're just kids playing dress-up, not the mature, responsible young adults she was probably trying to present us as.

Grandma goes back to talking about her summer, including why she wanted to strangle Norman. At this point, I want to strangle him. If he hadn't annoyed Grandma so much, then she wouldn't be sitting here serving us an admittedly great brunch. And I would probably still be in bed with Sam. But I can't dwell on that thought obviously.

When we're done eating, Grandma says, "Well, let's go in the living room and get this _Jerry Springer_ episode started."

I blush again. Yeah, it does sound pretty tawdry on the surface, and she doesn't even know about Sam's pregnancy yet.

Sam sits on the couch. I hesitate and then decide I may as well sit next to her. It's solidarity, in a different way than the time when Sam was babysitting me and I accidentally threw Grandma's earring down the sink and Chad McCann got his arm stuck trying to get it out. Oh, and Sam was not supposed to have boys in the house of course.

Grandma perches on a chair arm, her own arms crossed, looking like a therapist. Well, she does have a degree in Psychology.

"So let me take a guess. You two were left on your own this summer, with Sam reeling from Hank's abandonment. She turned to you, Jonathan, and at first you were a sympathetic ear, and then hormones took over and you ended up in bed."

"Um, not exactly."

"Actually, Mona, first I got drunk and kissed him. He became a sympathetic ear after that."

"Oh, better and better."

"You haven't even heard the big news," I mutter, shaking my head.

"Big news? Oh, I can't wait!"

"Um, I'm pregnant."

Grandma raises her eyebrows. "Really? Fast work, Jonathan."

"It's Hank's," Sam says irritably.

Grandma shakes her head. "This is a _Jerry Springer_ episode."

"Believe me, Grandma, we're well aware of how weird this all is."

"So, Sam, what are you going to do about Hank's little farewell gift?"

"Raise it on my own."

"Really? And, Jonathan, you didn't swoop in and propose to her? You could be the first stepfather in MIT's class of '97."

"Well, she's still technically married." As soon as I say that, I know it's not the right response.

"Ah, right. I think you're not even out of the cooling-off period, are you, Sam?"

"Um, no, it hasn't been 30 days yet."

"And what does Hank think about all this?"

"I haven't told him. I mean about the pregnancy. I'm not going to tell him about Jonathan of course."

"Why not? Show him you're over him."

"Mona."  
"Or is this just a rebound?"

"I don't know!" Sam sounds like she's going to cry, and I find myself taking her hand and squeezing it. "I don't know what I'm feeling!"

"Yes, this can be a very confusing experience." I don't know if she means pregnancy or divorce or quasi-incest. But then it's my turn. "And, you, Jonathan? How are you feeling?"

"Um, I'm OK."

"Just OK? After your first time?"

I decide not to mention that I also had my second and third time. "Well, that part was good." I can't say how good. "I mean, obviously when I imagined being deflowered—"

Both Sam and Grandma laugh.

Sam kisses my hand. "Oh, my delicate little flower, I have soiled you!"

"Shut up," I mutter, pulling my hand away from hers.

"No, you shut up," she says automatically.

"I'm glad to see not everything has changed."

"Well, see, that's the thing, even though I have feelings for Sam, we're still the same people."

"What kind of feelings?" Sam and Grandma ask simultaneously.

Blushing, I say, "I don't know either. I mean, I kind of do. God, do I really have to say this out loud?"

"Go on, Jonathan, she'll get it out of you anyway," Sam says, although she's obviously curious herself.

I look down at my lap, really hoping I won't get an erection while I talk about this. "Well, for a long time, I thought Sam was sexy, but I have done my best not to dwell on that, for obvious reasons. But after she kissed me, I had to face it. And I also have emotional feelings for her, because of what she's going through and—"

"You feel sorry for her?"

I look up. "Well, yeah, of course. I mean, not that I've been spending time with her out of pity. I like being with her. I always have, even if it's just hanging out. And then also, um, during sex, I felt, well, it was like emotions were mixed in."

"Especially the last time," Sam says quietly.

Grandma raises her eyebrows again. "The last time? How many weeks has this been going on?"

"No weeks. Not even a day."

"It started last night," Sam admits. "And then we had it twice this morning."

"Well, well, well. Quite the boinkfest!"

"Grandma, it's not just sex, that's what we're saying."

"So what is it? Sam, do you want Jonathan as your boyfriend?"

Now she looks down at her lap. "I don't know. There's a lot going on here. It's hard to sort out. I mean, even if I weren't pregnant and going through a divorce, he's my stepbrother. My younger stepbrother. And even if I wanted to date him I couldn't. Our parents would put a stop to it."

"But you two decided to have a summer fling anyway?"  
"Yeah," I mumble.

"Well, now your fling is over, My Dears, because Grandma is putting a stop to it."

We both stare at her.

"You?" Sam says. I'm too speechless to say anything. "Ms. Free Love? Ms. 'If it feels right, do it'? Mrs. Mona Robinson, who's been with how many men?"

"That's beside the point, Sam. I'm old enough to know what I'm doing, and I don't just mean physically. You two are in way over your heads, and if this goes on, it's only going to get messier."

"I guess," she mutters.

"I know. Never having had a stepbrother, I've never slept with one, but I do know messy relationships when I see them. And this is a hell of a mess. So I'm going to recommend a new cooling-off period."

"Cooling off?" Sam asks.

"Yes. What month are you in?"

"The third."

"So the baby's due in January, February?"

"February."

"So it'll be a few months old by next summer."

"Uh, yeah."

"If you two find you really want to pursue this, then wait till next year. Sam will be a divorced mom by then, but hopefully her life will be a little more stable. Jonathan, you'll have another year of college. Maybe you can date some other girls in the meantime, find out if this thing with Sam is what you really want."

"You want us to wait a whole year?" I say. It sounds like forever.

"More like ten months. That's not much to ask, is it?"

"But, Mona, he's still going to be my stepbrother. He's still going to be too young for me. Dad will still want to kill him."

"And Mom will want to kill you," I point out.

"Right."

"I'm not saying it'll be easy. But if this is what you want, what you both want, the best way to find out is to take a break."

We both nod. It makes sense, although I doubt it'll be easy.

"And, Sam, will you please do us all a favor and tell Hank that you're carrying his child?"

"Mona, he left me. He doesn't care."

Grandma looks like she wants to slap Sam. "Samantha, this isn't about you. It's about your baby. He or she has a right to know his or her father. And Hank, however irresponsible he is, has a right to know his child."

Sam nods but doesn't say anything.

"Um, Grandma, is Hank back in California? We think he came back here to file for divorce."

"I'm not keeping tabs on his whereabouts, but, yes, he did return after his little visit to his parents and the court."

"Is he still with her?" Sam asks.

"As far as I know," Grandma says more gently.

"Then I don't want to call him."

"Call his mother. She can pass the word along."

"I am not telling Fran that she's going to be a grandmother!"

"Then tell her that you need Hank to call you."

"OK." Sam understandably does not look like she wants to talk to Hank or his mother.

"So, not to change the subject, Sam, but how are things going on the job-hunting front?"

"Um, I did apply for a job recently but I don't know if I'll get an interview."

"Well, you certainly have the dressed-for-success look down."

"Thank you."

"Though I'd recommend a bra with that outfit. Angela can get away without one sometimes but you can't, especially in your third month."

Sam and I both blush. In my case, it's because I didn't realize she wasn't wearing a bra, and now I can't stop thinking about it.

She says, "Um, I would've borrowed one of Angela's but they were, um, too small. And, um, yours were too big."

Grandma shakes her head. "Maybe this isn't _Jerry Springer_. Maybe it's _Goldilocks._"

"Oh, thanks for the porridge by the way, Grandma."

"Of course. Anything for my darling grandchildren."


	30. Sunrise

I wake up early the morning after our return to the castle. I've always been a morning person, although of course the time changes on the ship and then in Italy threw me off at first.

I smile at Angela, so lovely and lovable in her nudity, with the new sun making her skin glow softly. While I have obvious regrets about the Art course I took in my sophomore year of college, I don't regret what it taught me about beauty, especially female beauty. Yeah, I've always had an eye for the ladies, noticing pretty girls since I was at least 11. But it wasn't till that class that I realized something about beauty.

Now I know, this is where I supposed to talk about inner beauty and how it's more important than outer. But the thing is, Mona didn't show me Angela's diploma or her résumé when making the job offer. Smart cookie that she was, she showed me a wallet-sized photo, and probably would've hauled out an oil painting of her "lovely daughter" if she'd had one handy.

If I didn't think Angela was beautiful from the beginning, before the beginning really, then maybe I wouldn't have stuck around to find out all her inner qualities. Plus, a lot of things that are wonderful about Angela were ones that only time could reveal. Mona couldn't have told me, and certainly Angela wouldn't have told me, that Angela would do things like, to take a few examples of many, help me clear out my dad's apartment a year after his death, encourage me to sing onstage with my old doo-wop group, and urge me to go to college when I got too scared. Yeah, I guess Mona could've said, "Angela will be supportive of your dreams and help you in your grieving." But that wouldn't have meant anything.

It's the same thing if Mona had tried to tell me about how patient and understanding Angela can be. Or any of the other amazing qualities Angela has.

And of course there are things I see in her that she can't see in herself, and I know Mona doesn't see them either. It's a little like Angela has a beautiful back, a feature no one thinks about (I'm more of a leg man myself), and I could tell Angela that, but it wouldn't mean anything to her.

The art class taught me about the way light interacts with objects and with people. Different painters capture the light in different ways. In the best paintings, it's like the object, or person, is a source of light. Angela is a source of light.

I know, it's clichéd, and I hate that Geoffrey said it first, but Angela is an angel. Oh, she's no saint, believe me. The woman has a temper and she can be petty. But it's not like I'm fault-free myself. And I wouldn't be happy with a woman who hadn't a dash of devilishness, which she definitely has. But looking at her now, her golden hair, her pink skin, it's like she glows even without the sun. Or maybe the sun brings out her inner glow. It's not just reflection.

"Giulietta è il sole," I murmur, remembering one of the lines from two days ago.

She opens her deep, dark eyes, which are more like the glow of the night sky, gentle but mysterious. "Good morning, Tony. Did you say something?"

"Good morning, Angela. I said I want you to see the sunrise."

"But it's so early!"

I chuckle. "It's summer. It does get up early."

"But I don't. I want my juice and coffee!" She pouts.

"You'll get them, Cara Mia, but first the sun."

"Oh, all right. But my clean clothes are upstairs."

"Stand up," I say, so she does. I take the sheet and drape it around her, making a garment like I've seen on ancient statues, or on some of the actresses at the festival. "This is a stola. My ancestresses wore these."

She smiles. "In Ancient Rome?"

"Yeah."

"And are you going to make yourself a toga?"

"Yeah, why not?" I use the thinnest of the blankets, because it's already getting warm.

Then I take her hand and lead her out onto the balcony, feeling a little like we're Ancient Roman nobles about to greet the hoi polloi. But no one's out and about, no tourists, no locals. It is very early. It's probably not even midnight back in Connecticut. The kids are probably sleeping and will be sleeping for another eight or ten hours, having a lazy summer and hopefully not worrying too much about Sam's divorce. And Mona? She's probably at some Hollywood party that's just getting started, if it's not too unfashionably early for her to arrive. But for us, a new day is beginning.

"Oh, Tony, it's so beautiful! Look at the light dancing on the water. And our garden! The flowers are waking up and they're dancing in the breeze."

I embrace her from behind, her warmth, her glow, sinking into me, as I bury my nose in her flower-like hair.

"The sky is one hundred colors, like the evening sky in Mexico."

"You are one hundred colors," I whisper in her ear.

I know, we are very corny, but that's OK. No one's around to hear us. No Mona or kids or Philly or Joanne to scoff. I love this woman, she loves me, and if we want to sound like a badly translated romance novel, it's nobody's business but ours.

We missed the beginning of the sunrise but we stay till the end, till the sky and the sea are a simple pure blue.

"Do you want me to go make you juice and coffee now?"

"They can wait." She turns and kisses me. I feel like I'm kissing sunshine.

We kiss and walk at the same time. I'm walking backwards, back to the bed. We unwrap each other along the way, so that by the time we're lying down again, our bodies are bare.

"You're shining, Angela," I say.

"Horses sweat, men perspire, women glow," she jokes.

"I bet I can make you sweat," I tease.

"Five laps around the castle?"

"Not exactly."

But we don't have hot, sweaty sex, not yet. We actually start out slow. It's early in the day and we don't have to be anywhere. Not for over a week. (Although I should get out to the market again sometime of course.)

Instead of hungrily, greedily kissing and touching each other, we savor it. We slowly caress, gently kiss, like we're sharing sunlight. I wonder what it would be like to stand naked in the sunrise with her. What would it be like to make love in the sunrise?

Well, at least there's lots of sunlight in this east-facing room, streaming in through the billowing curtains.

"You're shining, too," she says, kissing my neck. "My bronze Roman god."

"Call me Jupiter," I joke, remembering when I wanted her to call me Zeus.

"Does that make me Juno?"

"No, you're a combination of Venus and Minerva."

"I like that."

I kiss her stomach, still so flat. I wonder if this will be the day that we make a baby. Yes, I've been wondering that every day this month, but the omens are right. We could call it Sunny, ha ha. Or Sol.

I kiss up to her chest, thinking of how she may someday feed our baby from her body, as Marie fed Sam. I kiss each breast reverently.

Then I kiss up to her face, her sweet angelic face. I'm drawn to it, have always been drawn to it. But not like a planet to a star. Maybe we're both stars. She makes me feel like one anyway.

My penis strokes her between the legs but not inside. I wait till she scoops me in by tilting her pelvis. And I move slowly at first, like I'm floating. I'm not even sure you could call these thrusts. They're more like penile caresses, massages, touching her, pressing against her. And she presses back, holding me, shifting around me, ever changing yet ever constant.

We kiss each other's lips, and that's also like caressing. Our lips slow-dance together. And then her lips part and my tongue caresses inside. Her tongue rubs against mine, at first like a friendly cat, and then more exploratorily. We definitely haven't forgotten what's happening below, but we love kissing so much that this feels equally important. And she is tall enough for both simultaneously. (Marie was short, so it tended to be either/or.)

It builds slowly, almost imperceptibly. The caressing that's turned to rubbing now turns to thrusting, above and below. Her legs rub around mine and then her feet rub my butt, her hands rub my spine. I wait for her to come and then I thrust good and fast. We're no longer kissing mouth-to-mouth. My lips tease her shell-like ears, whispering endearments in English and Italian, while she nuzzles my neck.

"La mia cara Angela!" I cry as I come.

"Il mio dolce Antonio," she replies dreamily.

My eyes widen in surprise. "Sex used to make you incoherent and now it makes you bilingual?"

"Did it?" She sounds surprised, too, as if she hadn't realized what she said or how she said it.

I shake my head. "Well, I guess travel broadens the mind."

"Or maybe I just picked it up from my favorite Italian-American."

"Yeah? Then let me teach you a few other handy phrases…." And, yes, they include "succo d'arancia e caffè."


	31. Fran

"Sam! It's so good to hear your voice!"

"You, too, Fran." This is what Dad explained to me years ago is a polite lie. Even for someone who grew up in Brooklyn, listening to the likes of Mrs. Rossini and Philly Fingers, Fran's voice (nasal yet high-pitched) is not exactly music to my ears. Also, I really don't want to be making this call, although it beats calling Hank's girlfriend and asking to speak to him.

"Hey, I thought we'd agree you'd call me Mom."

"Um, yeah, we did." I'd kind of forgotten that. We always saw Hank's parents much less than Dad and Angela, so it didn't really come up that often. It felt weird to me, since I hardly know Fran and she's obviously less mom-like than Angela, who understands that "Mom" still means Marie Milano Micelli to me. (Oh, Mama, if you're looking down on all this craziness from Heaven, please forgive your sinful and confused daughter.) "But circumstances have changed."

"I know, but you're still part of the Thomopolous family."

Funny she should say that. "I appreciate that. Um, Fran, could you do me a favor and ask Hank to call me?"

"Oh, I know what this is about!"

"You do?" There's no way she could possibly guess, unless Mona dropped hints, and that's extremely unlikely. Mona probably hasn't said more than a dozen words to Fran in the past couple years, and she's promised me and Jonathan to not tell anyone about our "fling" or about my pregnancy. (She does, however, reserve the right to tease us when no one else is around, which I expected after years of watching her put Dad and Angela through the wringer.)

"Yeah, and, Sam, I know how you feel. Divorce is a terrible thing. And your cooling-off period ends today, right?"

She is right. It's been 30 days. (I waited a couple days to call her.) I've sort of lost track, with the eventful month I've been having. "Uh, yes."

"Samantha Honey, no one wants to see you two get back together more than I do, but I think you're fighting a losing battle."

"No, Fran, you don't understand."

"No, really, I do. You think Joe and I haven't had our share of arguments over the years? But this is a lot more serious, and I just don't think he's coming back."

"I know that, Fran. And I don't want him back." It's the first time I've said that out loud. Even if I can't have Jonathan, being with him has shown me that I can't spend the whole summer, let alone my whole life, pining for a man who cheated on me.

"You don't?"

"Right. But I do need to talk to him."

"About the alimony?"

"The alim—?" Wow, I hadn't even thought about the financial side of this. I mean, does Hank even have a job right now? Not that I want his money for myself. "No, not the alimony."

"What then?"

I could just say it's none of her business, but she is a nice lady and she means well. Suddenly, I blurt out, "The child support!"

"The child support? But you two never had any children."

"Um, no, not yet."

"Oh my God, Sam! Are you sayin' what I think you're sayin'?"

"Yes, Fran, you're going to be a grandmother."

She squeals like a Pomeranian combined with a dolphin.

"Oh God, I don't believe this! Let me sit down."

"OK."

"Oh, Sam, this is so wonderful! When you two split up, I thought I would never have grandchildren."

"Well, you never know, maybe Hank will get married again."

"If it's to that lady puppeteer, no dice."

"No dice? Does she not want children?"

"You kiddin' me? She loves kids! That's why she got into puppetry. But she has medical issues."

"Oh." Several thoughts go through my mind, including that my baby may be an only child, which seems to run in this family. (Me, Jonathan, Dad, Mom, Angela, Hank, Fran, and Joe, although not Mona or the other grandparents). I also wonder if Whatshername will be a good stepmom. What if Hank wants custody? They could get married and claim that they can give my baby a better home as a couple than I can as a single mom.

After all, look at the crap Michael Bower put poor Angela through when he wanted custody! The adults mostly tried to spare us when that was going on, especially since Jonathan was still little, but I overheard Angela crying in her hotel room one night. Dad wanted her to fight it—I think he already thought of Jonathan as his son—but Mona told me that Angela was sometimes afraid to fight for the people she cared about. "Selfless martyr," she muttered and then changed the subject.

I remind myself I'm getting ahead of things. Hank won't necessarily marry Whatshername or want custody.

"Is it going to be a boy or a girl?"

"I don't know yet. It's only the third month."

"Well, let me know as soon as you find out so I know what baby gifts to buy."

"OK." Suddenly, the strangeness of this situation hits me in a new way. I try to imagine a baby shower with Fran there, and Angela and Mona, not to mention Bonnie and all the other friends I need to update on my life. Well, I still want to wait till things are less crazy before I call Bonnie and everyone, although who knows when that'll be?

"Oh, Sam, he's going to be so happy when he hears!"

"Yeah? I didn't think Joe liked kids much."

"Not Joe. Hank!"

"Oh." Will he be? I mean, yeah, I guess Hank likes little kids, although he's been around them less than I have. Billy had moved out by the time Hank and I started dating. But, yeah, I guess if the lady puppeteer likes kids, it makes sense that Hank would. I mean, we talked about having them, but it was always off in the hazy future.

"Sam, I don't want you to get your hopes up, but maybe Hank will come back to you now."

I feel like she's slapped me. "I don't want him back just because of an 'accident.' "

"Accident? Oh, Sam Honey, it's a miracle!"

"A miracle?" I bite my tongue before I say that there wasn't exactly a star in the East, and this conception was anything but immaculate.

"Yeah, it's like God is telling you that you and Hank are really meant to be together."

"Oh?" I can't help saying. "Well, I don't think He told the lady puppeteer that."

"Sam, do you still love Hank?"

"I, I don't know."

"Open up your heart to forgiveness, Sam."

"Fran, how am I supposed to forgive Hank when he hasn't said he's sorry?"

"He will, Sam, I promise you. And he'll leave her as soon as he knows he's going to be a father."

"Look, Fran, I appreciate all this, but I'm not asking Hank to come back to me. I just want him to know he's going to be a father. And if he wants to see the baby, then he'll have to pay child support."

"Oh, Sam," she says sadly.

"Fran, I'm sorry. I know this isn't easy for you."

"Me? Oh, Sam Sweetie, I feel so sorry for you!"

"And Hank."  
"Well, he's my son. And I know he's made mistakes, but he's a good person basically."

"Well, I wouldn't have married him if I thought he was a bad person." Which is not to say I haven't revised my opinion since then.

"If only you kids had waited. You got married so young, and so fast!"

"I know. And now we're dealing with the consequences."

"Are you upset about the baby?"

"No, not really. I wanted a baby and now I'm getting one, even if it's not how I planned."

"Sam, if Hank comes back to you and you never get divorced, then it'll be like this never happened."

"No, Fran, whatever happens with me and Hank, it'll never be like before."

"Maybe your relationship will be even stronger, from being tested like this."

I think of Dad and Angela, but it's not like they were married then. And I think he told her about Kathleen as soon as he could. Also, Angela wasn't pregnant. She and Dad have never had a kid together, and probably never will. This is completely different.

"Fran, please just call him for me, OK?"

"Yeah, of course. You take good care of yourself, all right?"

_I'm trying,_ I think, but I just say, "Thank you. Goodbye, Fran."

"Goodbye, Honey."

After we hang up, I want to run to Jonathan's arms. I want him to comfort me as he has these last few weeks, but I can't. And it's not just because it might lead to something, and Mona (Mona of all people!) would object.

Is Fran right about Hank? Have I been unfair not to tell him? OK, yeah, I've only known for four days, but I've suspected for eight or nine. And I probably would've waited a lot longer to even call Fran if Mona hadn't nudged me.

I want to talk to Mona. She's the only person besides Jonathan who knows what I'm going through. But I'm still sort of mad at her. Yes, I understand why she said what she said, and that's probably the advice I'd give to a friend. But it doesn't mean I have to like it.

Instead, I end up talking to my baby. "Hey there, Little Girl. Or Little Boy, if that's what you're gonna be. That was up to your daddy, and neither of us even knew one of his swimmers was gonna hit the target on the last try. So Baby XX, or XY, this is your mama. Sorry we haven't chatted yet, but things have been kind of crazy out here.

"I'm sorry about that. And I'm sorry I'm not bringing you into a standard family. I could get back with your daddy I guess, but I don't know if either of us wants that. It's not your fault. I know children of divorce sometimes blame themselves. Jonathan once told me he did.

"Yeah, Uncle Jonathan. No, he's not gonna be your stepfather. He's practically a kid himself. Hell, I feel like a kid sometimes, and I'm a college graduate and almost a divorcée. Anyway though, your Uncle Jonathan will still be my friend. He'll still be there for me, for us. We're lucky to have him.

"And his mom, your stepgrandmother even though he won't be your stepfather—it's a tangled family tree, I know—she's really cool. She's so sweet. She has a really big, welcoming heart. She'll help us. She'll love you like you're her own grandchild.

"And Dad, your Grandpapa or whatever we end up calling him, he's wonderful! Yeah, he's got a temper, a temper you may well inherit Baby X, I'm warning you, since I inherited it. And he'll lecture you all the time, unless he does the grandparent thing and spoils you instead. Maybe it'll be both. But anyway, he'll love you like crazy. When we Italians love, we love big.

"Your other side is Greek, Mediterranean in a different way. I know less about them. But the Thomopolouses are good people, basically. I know, I know. You're being saddled with a mouthful of a last name. Too bad things didn't work out with my high school steady. 'Nash' is a much shorter, snappier name. Or you could've been a Stetson, if I'd stayed with Matt. But, sorry, Sweetheart, you're a Thomopolous.

"Anyway, I just want you to know that you don't need to worry about being born to a screw-up, because it's not like I'll really be doing this alone. Yeah, the hard parts, like getting you into this world, will be mostly up to me. But maybe Uncle Jonathan's right and I can accomplish more than I realize."

It is at this inspiring moment that the phone rings. Hank? So soon? Well, I guess it wouldn't take Fran long to blurt out the news. In fact, she'd probably blurt it out a lot faster than I did, since she'd be eager to tell. And then Hank would immediately call me up.

Is he happy? Excited? Upset? Angry? Suspicious? After all, he might think I made up the whole thing, just to get him back. Even if he's pleased about the news, I'm not ready to talk to him.

But I have to face it. "OK, Baby X, I'm gonna talk to your daddy. Wish Mama lots of luck. Cross your fingers, if you have any yet."

A few weeks ago, when Jonathan and I began our awkward conversation and then Dad and Angela called from the ship, I said I'd never been afraid of the telephone. Clearly, that is no longer true. But I force myself to pick up the receiver. I hope my hello doesn't sound too shaky.

"Hello, may I speak to Samantha Micelli-Thomopolous?" says some woman I don't recognize. I doubt it's Whatshername, but you never know.

"This is she." (Angela taught me posher phone etiquette than I'd learned in Brooklyn, for when I talk to strangers.)

"Hi, Samantha. This is Kourtney Palmer at Harmony &amp; Hominy."

It takes me a moment to understand and then it hits me. The music management firm I applied to! It's been almost a week, but I didn't expect to hear back on a Sunday.

"Oh, hi, good to hear from you."

"We were really impressed with your application."

"You were?" I can't help sounding surprised, since I have almost no experience and I'm fresh out of college.

She chuckles. "Yes, we were. And we'd like to interview you this week if that works for you."

"Yeah, it definitely works for me!"

She laughs again. "I like your enthusiasm. Are you free Thursday at 2?"

"Yes," I say without hesitation. I mean, other than waiting by the phone for Hank, and trying not to make out with Jonathan, oh, and I guess buying a baby name book, my week is pretty free.

"Great. We'll see you then."

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome, Samantha. Have a good day."

"You, too, Kourt."

She laughs again and then hangs up.

Oh, shit, I just nicknamed my potential future boss. Or was she just a flunky? Either way, she didn't seem to mind.

"Oh, Baby X," I whisper as I set down the phone, "your mama is a screw-up, but maybe you're not my only happy accident."


	32. Mid-Day Sun

"Is it raining or are you drooling?"

"Let me put it like this, Tony. There's not a cloud in the sky."

We say what we said four years ago in Fort Lauderdale, but the circumstances are very different. I had gone on Sam's spring break trip in order to distract Tony if he took his chaperoning duties too seriously. Of course, there was no one to chaperone us, but it never got beyond some heavy flirtation. The sexual tension was high in those months between Jamaica and Kathleen. However, we were of course repeatedly interrupted, in that case by a thunderstorm. But not before I got to put some suntan oil on Tony's muscular back.

This time the sky is clear, that gorgeous Italian blue that I still can't get over after three and a half weeks. The sun is in the middle of the sky, since it's noon. The temperature is somewhere in the 80s, hot but not too hot. I think of how uncomfortable the heat is in New York in the summer, and I'm glad to be gone from that, even if I sometimes miss my agency. This isn't a sticky heat, although we're both sweating a little.

We decided to do this in the central courtyard, since that offers the most privacy. Unless a plane flies over, but that's rare in this little corner of the Mediterranean. (We're at the northern end of the Gulf of Naples, which is part of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which in turn is part of the Mediterranean. It's a bit like how we're on an islet off an island off of Italy.)

We've put down three layers of towels, since the stone paving obviously would be less comfortable to lie down on than sand. He's wearing his usual long shorts, while I've got a beach cover-up over my string bikini, so he won't be too distracted at first. Yes, this may lead where I (and probably he) hope it will, but it did start out with him innocently suggesting he share my sunbathing.

I rub the lotion into the back of his thick but sensitive neck and then into his broad shoulders. Then I work my way down his back.

"Mmm, Angela, that's really nice!"

"Thank you." It's turning into more of a massage, since I'm not just dabbing the lotion on. I suddenly realize that we don't massage each other often enough. It used to be, it was "dangerous" for us to touch each other, and even a foot rub could be too arousing. And after we were married, well, other touches came into play, other ways to release tension.

When I get to the small of his back, I skip over the part covered by his long shorts. I work my way down his sturdy legs and arrive at his feet. I remember the pressure points that Jack taught me, and this time I deliberately give his heel some firm rubbing. He moans in surprise and pleasure.

"Turn over, Tony," I say, my voice hitting its lowest register.

"Uh, Angela, I'm a little, uh, you know."

"Don't you want me to do your front?"

"Well, uh, yeah, I wouldn't want to get burned." He rolls over and he is more than a little erect. I smile down at him and I begin rubbing in the lotion on the fronts of his feet and legs. I again skip over the part covered by his shorts.

I work my way up to his chest and stomach, and his shoulders and neck again. And finally up to his face, which is smiling. I skip his mouth though, so I can kiss him.

After the kiss, he says, "Lie down. It's your turn."

"Let me take this off first." I lift off the cover-up and he grins. Then he sits up and kisses me, stroking my back.

"Should I lie on my front first? Or my back?"

"On your front."

So I do. Then Tony does the same thing to me I did to him, sort of. My hair is in a simple French twist to have it out of the way, so he starts with the back of my bare neck, and then down to my shoulders and back. His touch is gentler than mine, because I know he can take harder rubbing than I can, and he knows what sensitive skin I have. To my surprise, he seems to be using only one hand, but I don't question this out loud.

He teases the tie at the back. "Can I undo this? So you won't have tan lines?"

It's unlikely that I would wear anything more revealing than this bikini in public, but I do have some backless dresses where a thin white vertical line would be distracting. "Go ahead. And do the one at the neck, too, please."

"As you like it," he says, and I laugh. (That play was set in central England, so it was of course not part of the Shakespeare festival.)

He unties my top with his left hand, the one that hasn't been rubbing me. The right hand then covers where the tan lines would've been, while the left hand teases the sides of my breasts.

And then he moves down to my feet. I remember the foot-rub he gave me after Paul and Isabel's wedding. Had he kept going, I would've seriously reconsidered going out with Geoffrey. I realize that Tony wasn't ready for us to be a couple yet—he felt very self-conscious about being my housekeeper then—but I could've spared both of us, as well as poor Geoffrey, some painful moments.

But live and learn I suppose. And this foot-rub is one of many reasons Tony was worth the wait. He moves up my calves and then to my thighs. My legs are much more exposed than his are, and I wonder how far up he'll go.

He's just below my bottom when he says in his huskiest voice, "Turn over, Angela."

So I do. We smile at each other and I see him look at my breasts, but he moves down my legs and to my feet again. Then he carefully puts lotion on my face, leaving my lips uncovered so we can kiss.

We keep kissing as he lies next to me and rubs the lotion down the front of my neck, shoulders, and torso.

I laugh as I tell him, "Tony, you're putting a lot of lotion on my chest."

"You have beautiful breasts, Angela. I have to protect them."

"Thank you."

It is his left, unoiled hand that rubs between my legs, teasing me around the skimpy bikini bottom, till I have to pull away.

"What's wrong?"

"Tony, take off your shorts!"

He grins and wriggles out of them. I quickly put lotion on the backs and fronts of his upper thighs and then I wriggle out of my bikini bottoms. Then I mount him and he shifts his position enough that we'll both be more comfortable. Then he rubs my bottom with lotion. "That could be a very embarrassing burn," he says, and I blush.

Then he strokes my breasts and thrusts up at me. I ride him till I'm sweating down on him!

"Angela, you're glowing," he teases.

I don't reply because I'm too busy coming, although I do whisper, "Ti adoro!" when I'm done. Then I lie next to him again. We roll onto our sides, facing each other, and I rub his bottom so he won't get burnt. Then we kiss deeply and he enters me below. We make love slowly at first, although our bodies glide together easily with all that lotion. The sex builds gradually and then he rolls me onto my back and he thrusts from above, I from below. I wish that we had more layers of towels down, but this feels too good to stop.

When he comes, he cries,** "**Sei la mia vita!"I don't need the phrasebook to know that that means, "You are my life!"

"Oh, Tony!" I sigh. I think that might be the most romantic thing he's ever said to me.

He kisses me sweetly, all over my face, despite the lotion. Then he asks, "È sufficiente prendere il sole, Mia Cara Moglie?"

"Sì, Mio Amato Marito. Excessive exposure can be dangerous."

He chuckles and then slides off me, helps me to my feet, and leads me to the nearest shower.


	33. Honalee

I'm afraid to answer the phone. What if it's Hank trying to reach Sam over here? She told me and Grandma about her call to Fran, right before she got the call about the job interview. She's upstairs now, in her old room, Grandma's current room. The two of them are trying to decide on the right outfit for her interview in a couple days. Obviously, even if Sam and I hadn't had our "fling," I couldn't exactly advise her on this. This is definitely "girl stuff." I'm sure Mom would love it if she were here. And Grandma and Sam need the female bonding, since things have been a little tense since Grandma returned.

Not that I'm happy with her breaking things up, but I think I'm less angry, resentful, than Sam. After all, Grandma actually is my grandmother, and I've been an adult a much shorter time than Sam has. Plus, I guess I'm more used to being told what to do. I'm not feisty like Sam.

"Jonathan, can you get that?" Grandma calls from upstairs.

So I answer it. "Hello?" I say uncertainly, then I add, "Bower-Micelli residence," because Tony used to answer with "Bower residence," until marriage let him add the "Micelli" to the greeting.

"Hello, may I speak to Mona?" Some guy whose voice I don't recognize. Considering how many men she's dated over the years, I guess that's not surprising.

"May I ask who's calling?"

"Norman Bass."

"Ah, right. Hold on."

I consider yelling up to Grandma, but what if she doesn't want to talk to him? I don't want her yelling that downstairs and hurting his feelings. So I head upstairs.

The bedroom door is shut, so I knock. Obviously, I'm not going to burst in there and risk seeing Sam in her underwear. "Uh, Grandma, it's for you. Norman."

"Oh for heaven's sake! Wait a moment." I wait and then she opens the door. "Did he sound like he was ready to grovel?"

"I couldn't tell."

"All right, I'll go talk to him. I can always hang up on him if I have to."

I wait to see if she's going to pick up the extension in the hall. If she does, I'll go downstairs and hang up the phone in the living room. But she heads downstairs, without a backwards glance.

"How do I look?"

I've been deliberately not looking in the room but now I step in and see Sam. She's got an outfit that I think is one that Mom helped her pick out a couple months ago, but with dashes of Grandma, like the scarf.

"You look gr—OK."

She smiles. "Thanks. Hopefully, I'll get a job before my pregnancy weight kicks in. Otherwise, I'll have to go shopping again."

"And I know how you'd hate that."

She laughs and then sighs. "I've missed you, Jonathan."

"I haven't gone anywhere." But I know what she means. We see each other like at dinner, but Grandma is always here. Sam misses who I was when we were alone, and not just the sex. That's how I miss her, too.

She knows what I mean. "Unlike me. I? I'm going to Manhattan in a couple days for this big interview. And then if it works out, I'll be commuting every weekday with Mona."

"Yeah. And Mom when she gets back."

"Yeah."

"So you don't think you'll move out?"

"No, Mona says I can keep the apartment. It's nicer than any place I can afford for me and the baby."

"Right. Um, are you going to ask Hank for child support?"

She sighs again. "I don't know. I haven't even heard back from him. Maybe he doesn't care that he's going to be a father."

"No, he probably cares. But he may be in shock. Or maybe Fran hasn't even reached him yet."

"Maybe."

"I'm glad you're staying." I mean it. I know, it'll be weird coming home for Christmas, seeing her in, God, the eighth month! And for Spring Break, when the baby will be a few weeks old. But I like the idea of her being around. However, I'm also glad I won't see her every day. Cambridge, Massachusetts will be far enough away, but not too far, if that makes sense.

"Me, too. It'll be good to have the support of my family."

I'm guessing she includes me in that. But it will be different when I'm Uncle Jonathan.

I change the subject. "So what kind of music does this company manage?"

"I'm embarrassed to say I've forgotten. There are so many companies I've considered, and I was still in a fog when I applied."

"Yeah, you were a little distracted then." What with waiting for her pregnancy exam, and waiting to see if we'd end up going to bed after all.

"They're called Harmony &amp; Hominy."

"Yeah? Sounds like folk music."

She laughs. "Remember that time Angela dragged out all her old folk records?"

I shake my head. "Yeah. And she and Tony started singing along with them."

"All the women had long, straight hair. Too bad mine isn't longer and straighter."

"I think it looks nice."

"Does it? I was wondering if I should call up Al to have him give me a cut and style."

"Do you really want to answer Al's 'So what's new?' "

"Ugh, good point. I'll ask Mona to help me."

"I'm glad you two are getting along."

"It's not like we had a big fight, it's just, you know."

"Yeah."

Then she starts singing "Puff the Magic Dragon," substituting "Hominy" for "Honalee." I join in, although neither of us remembers all the words.

Grandma gives us a funny look when she returns. I'm sure she expected to find us making out, not singing Peter, Paul, and Mary.

"So what did Norman say?" Sam asks.

"Well, he offered me a raise and promised to be less annoying."

"I didn't know he could decide that," I say.

"Well, promised to try to be less annoying."

"What did you say?" Sam asks.

"I said that I wanted to wait till you have your interview."

"Then you're going back?" I ask, trying to keep calm.

"I might. Can you two promise to keep your hands off each other?"

"Well, we can promise to try," I can't help saying. Sam snorts.

"Uh huh. Maybe I'll stick around until Sam hears how the interview went. And then see how her check-up goes. And of course I have to say goodbye when my darling grandson goes back to college."

"Mona, do you really want to have to chaperone us for the next three weeks till Dad and Angela get back? And then whenever they're out of the house for the couple weeks after that?"

"No, Samantha, that is not how I want to spend what's left of my summer. And that's why I'm asking, can you two be trusted alone?"

"Well," I say slowly, "it's not like we were, um, intimate the whole time you were gone."

"He's right. I mean, this may've looked like a summer fling, but most of the time we were just holding hands, hugging, and kissing."

"Yes, but that was B.S." We both look at each other and then her. "Before Sex. Now that you've had it, you're going to want to have it again. A lot."

"Geez, Mona, you make it sound like an addiction!"

"It can be. Trust me, I know." She gets a dreamy look on her face, and I must look disgusted, since Sam looks amused. Then Grandma turns serious again. "OK, look, I know you can make all the promises you want to. And you could have a dozen chaperones. But if you really want to get together, you will. So at least promise me that if you do find yourselves drifting bedward, you will think about it first. Think about consequences."

"Consequences?" Sam says.

"Yes, Dear. You're going to be a mother in a few months. Does my little step-great-grandchild need any more drama?"

"I don't think she, or he, has any opinion on my love life."

"You never know. Prenatal influences and all that. And you need to take care of yourself for your own sake, Sam. Is being involved with Jonathan healthy?"

"Thanks a lot," I grumble.

"Hey, no offense, Kid. If you were older and not Tony's stepson, I think Sam could do a lot worse. And has a done a lot worse."

I laugh. "Yeah, like Chad McCann."

"He was the cutest boy in junior high!"

"That doesn't say much for your class."

"Listen, Geek, if we're talking class—"

"This gives me hope." We look at her. "I think on some level you two are going to default to siblinghood, hormones aside. Focus on that."

"Yeah, because Dad and Angela fighting kept them from falling into bed, didn't it?"

"Well, it was a very slow fall. And they were older and less susceptible. And in denial. So that helped."

"So you want me and Sam to fight while you're gone?"

"Not on the level of a battle. Just you know, bicker, snipe at each other, insult each other. Like a normal brother and sister."

"Grandma, I don't think Sam and I are ever going to be that again."

"If we ever were," Sam says, and I remember five years of her unknowingly turning me on.

"Think of this like AA. If you find yourselves weakening, call me in California."

"OK," Sam and I say together.

"Not collect though, please."

We laugh and nod.


	34. Sunset

"Hurry up, Angela! You're going to miss the sunset!" Yeah, we've missed a few in the past four weeks, but we had plans to see this one specifically. I've got a bottle of Micelli Rosso that I ordered through the local merchant a few weeks ago, and it finally came. When I handed over Uncle Aldo's inheritance a few years ago, giving it to the local workers whom he'd exploited for years (which I only found out after he died), I thought they might change the name of the vineyard. But apparently the Micelli name had a good local reputation (for wine, not management-labor relations), and they didn't want to give that up. This is the first time I've tried the wine since the changeover.

I've set up a little table and chairs on the balcony that most faces west. I can see across the bridge to what Angela and I jokingly call "the big island." It's after 8 p.m., so the tourists have left our little islet for the day. (They mostly leave us alone, although we have had a few politely ask to come in and take pictures. I welcome them in, since that's the Italian spirit, although only when Angela and I are fully dressed of course.)

We already had dinner, but I got a box of chocolates to go with the wine. Angela hasn't been worrying about her weight much on this vacation, partly because we're trying to get her pregnant and partly because that trying burns off a lot of calories. And she jokes that going up and down three flights of stairs a few times a day helps. As for me, besides the sex, I try to walk across the bridge whenever I go to and from the market every two or three days. I miss my Fairfield early morning jog, but I do enjoy a slower pace, where I can savor this gorgeous scenery.

"Just a minute, Tony."

I know from experience that a woman's "just a minute" can sometimes be close to an hour, but Angela is always worth the wait. I decide I can risk taking out the cork and letting the wine breathe. It smells good.

But not as intoxicating as she is, when she comes up behind me and hugs me. God, her natural scent! "Puzzi come il cielo!" I gasp.

"I'm like the sky?"

"No, Baby, you smell like Heaven!"

I turn and kiss her passionately.

"Mmm, Tony, that's so good! But we'll miss the sunset."

"There'll be another one tomorrow!"

She laughs and steps away. I see she's got on the beach cover-up. I'm dying to see what she's got on underneath this time, but she's right. We are here to say goodbye to the Italian sun for another day. And then we'll have another too short summer night to spend in each other's arms.

I hold her chair for her and she says "grazie" of course, so I reply with "prego."

"Not yet," she puns, "but maybe tonight."

I laugh and take my own chair. Then I pour the wine into the glasses and we toast to the sun. The wine is very good, dry and sweet.

"I'm going to miss it," she sighs. "The sun I mean."

"It's the same one back home."

She shakes her head. "Astronomically, yes. But it doesn't feel the same. It's warmer but gentler here."

I nod. "Yeah. And we got to spend more time with it."

"Right. It's been lovely, spending time together the three of us."

"I guess we should've befriended the moon, too."

"Well, she's not as constant as the sun."

"Shakespeare thought she was jealous of the sun."

"Yes, but can you blame her? Look at that!"

We both gaze at the sunset, as beautiful as the sunrise was a few days ago, although there's something kind of sad about it, an end rather than a beginning.

We sip the wine in silence, and then I offer her the box of chocolates.

"Oo, well, maybe just one."

"I only bought one box, Angela."

She gives me that annoyed but embarrassed look she'd give me in the old days, when I'd tease her about her sweet tooth. Then she takes two pieces. I take one. And then we have a sweet kiss that tastes of wine and chocolate.

"Mmm, good vintage," she murmurs.

"Aged just the right amount."

After that we alternate kissing and gazing, till we're left in near darkness. I forgot to bring out candles.

"Here she comes," Angela says.

I look up and the moon appears, as if it really was waiting till the coast was clear.

"She's shy."

"Yes. Tony, do you remember her that night?"

"Uh, which night?"

"The night we first kissed."

"Angela, that was over thirty years ago!"

"I remember every detail."

"I remember every detail about 'Ingrid.' And I know there was a full moon that night. Not in the sense there was for your first prom night."

"Oh, you!"

"Cara Mia, il tuo sorriso eclissato la luna."

"Il mio sorriso?"

"Your smile." I trace it with my fingertips.

"Maybe that was my braces."

"No, because it still eclipses the moon."

We kiss again and I stroke her golden hair. She's wearing it down tonight, which strengthens her resemblance to the sun, although I don't quite know how to say that in Italian.

We kiss and caress and suddenly I want to make love to her in the moonlight. But the tile of the balcony will be very cold at night. It is cold on my knees when I drop to them, careful to not bump my head on the underside of the table.

"Tony?"

"Mangia il tuo dolce, Mio Amore," I advise as I lift her tush and ease down her black high-cut panties. And so she eats the sweets as I, ahem. Knowing Angela, the acts probably give her equal pleasure.

Then I kiss my way up her stomach and to her naked breasts. The cover-up is very loose on her and it can fit around us both. She unbuttons the snap at the top so my head can emerge. As I kiss her, she eases down my sweatpants. And since I'm "andando commando," I enter her. We continue to make love on her chair, with the moon our only witness. (Unless there are voyeurs on the big island. Well, they couldn't really see much, even with binoculars.)

Some of the time one or the other of us is on top, but it's more like sex in the front seat of a car. We still haven't had that together, although we came close the night we almost drowned her Jag. Well, as close as we did in those days.

"She was full that night, at Piedmont Lake," I suddenly remember.

"Yes, she was. But the stars were not yet aligned."

"Sono stasera , i miei gemelli."

She laughs.

"What?"

"You just called me your twin!"

"I meant 'my Gemini.' "

"Well, we're twin souls."

I kiss her for that. It really does feel like we're one person tonight, or two halves of a greater whole. And when we come, it is an earth-shattering, sky-shaking simultaneous orgasm.

I can't help wondering if we've just made twin babies. They won't be Geminis like her. But they could be Tauruses like me. I don't want to jinx things though by saying anything.

She nuzzles my neck and whispers, "It's nighttime. We should be in bed."

"Buonanotte, la luna," I say and carry my laughing wife to the nearest bedroom. We can come back for the panties and sweatpants in the morning.


	35. The Colonel

"So, you want to hit KFC on the way home?" I ask, waiting to see if he'll nag me about eating fried food.

"Can we eat in the car?" he asks.

I shrug. "It's not my car, although we should probably clean it out in the next couple weeks, before Dad and Angela get back."

This time, I'm the one driving to and from the airport. Dad said we could use his Jeep while he's gone, but I was too depressed a month and a half ago to fight Jonathan for the car keys.

Mona is again leaving from JFK to LAX. We saw her off again, although we don't know how long it'll be for this time. She stayed in Connecticut only a week, but that was long enough to change things.

It was at least nice to have her advice about my job interview, and not just the outfit. She used to work in personnel (that's how she met Norman actually), and she knows how businesspeople think. But mostly she told me to be myself. So that's what I did yesterday.

"Let's eat in and then you can tell me more about your interview."

"Sure." It's better than getting it to go and eating at home. I suppose Jonathan and I could go back to having meals in the kitchen at the main house, but it's going to be awkward on our own again. Yes, we're alone now, but we are in a moving car.

We go to a KFC in New Rochelle. I don't think we'll let the conversation drift into dangerous areas, but just in case, I'd just as soon not run into anyone we know.

We order, get our food, and find a table. I take a bite of my drumstick. "Mmm, Baby X loves fried chicken!"

He's amused. "So that's what you're calling my niece?"

I shrug. "Or your nephew if that's what it is."

"Are you going to find out?"

"Yeah, when I'm far enough along to get an ultrasound."

"Cool either way."

I smile. "Yeah, it is." OK, X's daddy is indifferent, but the rest of the family will be pleased. Well, Dad and Angela will be surprised, but I think they'll be happy once the shock wears off.

"So tell me about the interview."

"Well, I met with the owners of the company."

"Harmony &amp; Hominy?" He smiles.

"Yeah. Kurt and Kourtney Palmer. The company was Kurt &amp; Kourt at first, but then they didn't want to be mixed up with Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love, although this Kourtney spells it with a K. Anyway, Kurt Palmer is southern, so that's where the 'hominy' comes from."

"Like grits?"

"Yeah. And guess what, Jonathan?"

"What?"

"It's children's music!"

"What, like Barney?"

"No, it's really rockin', but cute."

"Did you tell them you're pregnant?"

"No, I didn't want that to influence them one way or the other. But I did tell end up singing 'Puff the Magic Dragon' for them."

"Really? Did they ask you to sing? I thought they're looking for managers."

"They are. And I just sang a little bit, because I was thinking of when I sang with you. And I felt like kind of a dork, but they liked it."

"Cool. Do you think you'll get it?"

I shrug. "I don't know. They seemed to like me, but they're nice people, so it was hard to tell."

"Just think, you can get free CDs and play them for Baby X in utero."

I laugh. "Yeah, not the perks I was picturing back when I managed Al's band, but still cool."

"Well, I hope you get it."

"Me, too. But even if I don't, I feel better about everything."

"Everything?" Oh God, those big brown eyes! His mother's eyes are deep but his are wide and still innocent, despite all that's happened.

I take his hand, not caring about the grease. "Jonathan, I'm sorry this month didn't go where we thought it would go. But I don't regret it."

"I don't either. And it won't necessarily be over forever, right?"

"Oh, Jonny, my life is so crazy, I can't make any promises."

"What did you call me?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know where that came from."

"It beats 'Geek' and 'Dweeb.' "

"And 'Snake-Boy'?"

"No, that's one sexy. I think I'll get a tattoo with that."

"And a big boa constrictor eating the words?"

"Yeah!"

And we spend the rest of the meal imagining tattoos we could get. My favorite for me is "Baby X" in cursive on my belly, to be stretched out as my pregnancy advances. And we laugh imagining his mother's reaction to our tattoos. No, we don't suggest hearts with our names intertwined.

On the rest of the way home, I play the CD Kurt &amp; Kourt gave me yesterday. I don't know if it was like a consolation prize on a game show, or an unspoken promise of a job. Or maybe it was just them being nice. It's got samples of different bands they represent. Jonathan pretends to be annoyed at first, me making him listen to kids' music, but soon we're both singing along and being silly. I picture me, Uncle Jonathan, and Baby X rocking out together a couple summers from now. Baby X will be able to walk and dance by then.

When we get home, I want to invite him upstairs to my apartment, but I can't. I promised Mona to cool it down. And maybe I think we can just hang out, but it's a slippery slope. After all, we held hands at the Colonel's! Who knows where this could lead?

"Well, goodnight, Sam," he says as we get out of the car.

"Goodnight, Jonathan. Um, have a good weekend."

"Yeah, you, too."

I head upstairs before this can get any more awkward. I sigh as I shut the door, but I know I did the right thing. Or rather, I didn't do the wrong thing, which is unusual for me.

Then I notice the answering machine light blinking. Did I get the job? Is it Hank? Maybe it's Dad and Angela. They haven't called in weeks, not since Rome. I figure they've been lost in honeymoon bliss all this time and barely remember they have kids. And of course they don't know about all the drama they're missing. Or maybe it's Bonnie, telling me she broke up with the new guy, before I even got to hear her gush about him.

I hit Play and the time is ten minutes ago. Whoever it was, I just missed them, and would've talked to them if Jonathan and I had got take-out.

I don't have long to wonder though, because I immediately recognize my darling husband's voice: "Sam, we need to talk. I'm coming right over."

Right over?! From where? And why now?

OK, calm down, Sam. Let's think. He's not calling from California. It sounded like he's in town, probably at his parents'. If he were in New York, he wouldn't have phrased it that way. I wonder when he flew in. If only I'd known, we could've picked him up at the airport when we saw Mona off.

"Baby X, your daddy's on his way over and I don't know what to do or say. I thought he'd call first. I mean from California. And it's been five days. Why the urgency now?"

Maybe Fran didn't reach him right away. Or maybe he had to sort out his life in California. After all, Whatshername can't be too thrilled about the news, stepbaby cravings or not.

Well, I'll find out soon. Do I even have time to brush my hair? I hear a knock. OK, let me get a scrunchie.

As I put my hair in a ponytail, I wonder if it might actually be Jonathan. Maybe he wants to hang out. Oh, Jonny, please not now. Or would it be good to have him here for moral support? No, Hank is not going to want to say anything in front of his kid-brother-in-law. And I'm afraid that this is a necessary conversation. I can talk to Jonathan after Hank leaves.

I take a deep breath, silently ask Baby X and Mama to wish me luck, and open the door.

"Oh, good, you're home."

"Yeah, I just got back from the airport."

"The airport?"

"We were seeing off Mona." I don't know if he knows about all that with Norman. He might, considering Whatshername is working on the movie.

But all he says is "Oh. Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure." I resist saying, "Make yourself at home."

He sits on the couch, so I take a chair.

"So, uh, how have you been?"

"Pregnant."

"Yeah, I heard."

"How have you been?"

"Not pregnant."

"Good."

"Sam, I want you to know I had no idea this would happen."

"Me neither. But I didn't have one foot out the door when I spread my legs."

He winces.

"So tell me, Hank, since I forgot to ask you a couple months ago, were you sleeping with her then?"

"No, not before I left."

"So you were what? Holding hands? Snuggling? Sharing burning glances?"

"Um, at that point? We'd necked I think."

"Well, that answers the safe sex question. Although it does raise the question, why did you leave me for a woman you'd only necked with?"

"Sam, I'd been unfaithful to you!"

I mull on that. Well, it wasn't full-on infidelity, but it wasn't exactly fidelity. I remember kissing Mason one night, even though he wasn't my type, and I felt very guilty, till I found out that Jesse had kissed another girl. (Not the one he later left me for.) And, yes, I haven't exactly been celibate since Hank left, but he started it.

"Well, anyway, that's water under the bridge. Let's talk child support."

"Child support?"

"Yes, Hank. I know you didn't ask for this kid, but she, or he, is half yours. And if you won't help me support it, then don't expect to ever see it."

"Sam, what are you talking about?"

"I'm going to have this baby. If you want to be a more involved father than Michael Bower, then you need to speak up now. Or forever hold your peace."

"Michael Bow—Oh, Angela's ex, right. Sam, you're not going through with the divorce, are you?"

"Me? You started this, Buster!"

"Sam, we're having a baby together!"

Oh, holy shit! Fran was right. Well, I guess she knows her son better than I do.

"Genetically together, yes. But not in the same household."

"You don't want to get back together?"

"Hank, you cheated on me! You left me! And I don't think staying together, I mean getting back together, for the sake of our child is a good reason."

"What if I'm still in love with you?"

I stare at him. "Are you?"

"Yes," he says quietly.

"What about Whatshername?"

He rolls his eyes. "You know her name."

I genuinely have forgotten her name. In my head she's been "Whatshername" for so long, and I thought that was a kind nickname considering what I could've chosen.

"I love Lisa, too."

I'm guessing that's Whatshername, unless he's in love with three women.

"Well, that's quite a dilemma, isn't it?"

"Sam, when I met her, we just really connected. But I have a history with you. And now a future."

I shake my head. "I'm the mother of your child. That's all the future we have."

"So you don't love me anymore?"

Damn, that's unfair! "Yes, I still have feelings for you. But things are different now."

"I broke up with her. And I'll do whatever I have to in order to win you back."

God, I hate how tempted I am! Why not forget all the craziness with Jonathan? I could never have a future with him. Hank is my husband. I could forgive him and we could be a happy family: me, him, and Baby X. Then I remember. "You haven't said you're sorry."

"Of course I'm sorry! It was the biggest mistake of my life!"

"But you love her."

"Yes, but I made a commitment to you."

"Poor Lisa," I murmur. I'm not being sarcastic.

"She understands. She wants me to be happy."

"Hank, even if you guys had broken up before this, it's too late. I've, I've moved on."

"Moved on? Have you met someone?"

"No," I say slowly, "I haven't met someone."

"OK. It's just you seem different."

I pat my still flat stomach.

"Not just that. You act different, you look different. Your hair, you've been growing it out."

"Yeah, inertia."

"I like it. You had it in that bob when we were together. That was cute, too."

"Thanks."

"So it's really over, isn't it?"

I want to say it was over two months ago, when he said he was leaving me, or maybe even before that, whenever he fell for Lisa. But I just nod.

"Can I have a hug goodbye?"

"Of course."

We stand up and hug, awkwardly at first, and then I remember how our bodies used to fit together. It's not natural like with Jonathan, but I remember how good it used to be.

To my surprise, he lets go and kisses my hand. Then he laughs. "Your hand is greasy."

"Oh, yeah, I went to KFC."

"And you didn't get a moist towelette?"

"I forgot." I want to tell him about going there with Jonathan, but I can't. He thinks of Jonathan as my stepbrother and that's all. I'm afraid to talk about even the innocent evening I spent because my voice might give me away.

"Should you be eating fast food when you're pregnant?"

He doesn't say it in a scolding way, like he has the right to tell me what to do as the baby's father. He says it teasingly.

"The baby loves fried chicken."  
"OK."

"Sam, can I stay here tonight?"

I stare at him.

"Not like that. But could I sleep on the couch? I'm not ready to face my mom's questions tonight."

Poor Fran. She wants a happy ending for her son. She wants to think Hank and I can rebuild as a couple because we're going to be a nuclear family, and never mind the past explosions.

But if Hank stays here, I know me. I'll come downstairs in the middle of the night and invite him to share my bed, our bed not so long ago. After all, I didn't make any promises to Mona not to sleep with Hank.

It's so tempting to try to heal things through sex, but it would be wrong. I can't do that to Jonathan. And I can't do to that to myself. Hell, I can't even do that to Lisa.

"You can sleep on the couch."

His face lights up and I wonder if he knows me, too, knows how I'm tempted.

I quickly add, "At the main house."

"Oh. Um, won't Jonathan think that's weird?"

"Jonathan has gotten used to dealing with the weirdness of my life."

He laughs, although he doesn't know the whole reason that's funny. Then he frowns. "OK, Sam. Uh, I guess I'll see you around."

"Yes, in court. And you can visit me and the baby in the hospital."  
He swallows. "All right. Uh, let me know if you need a Lamaze partner."  
I stare at him again.

He strokes my ponytail. "Joking, Sam."

"Right." _Please leave, Hank, before I kiss you._

"Goodnight, Sam. Take care."

"You, too."

And then he's gone. And I cry for the first time in weeks.


	36. Mistranslation

"What do you want to do?" I ask.

He shrugs and hands back Mother's letter. "Do you want to go back early?"

"Well, we should at least finish out our month at the castle. It's only today and tomorrow after all."

"And what should I tell Aunt Rosa?"

I look down at the letter that he had to translate half of for me. "I don't know. It does seem cruel to come to Italy and not see them. And the cruise tickets are flexible. There's no penalty for changing the dates. And I could even get a cancellation refund if we decided to just fly back after we visit your relatives."

"OK. But what about your agency?"

"Tony, I miss my agency but it seems so far away. Not just in miles. But it's a different world."

He nods. "Yeah, I wonder what's happening with Sam's divorce. The cooling-off period is over now. Maybe she needs me. But, this sounds awful, but this fantasy world in the castle seems realer than anything we left behind."

"Right. As far as Sam goes, we can still be home in two or three weeks, like we planned. And it's not as if the divorce will have moved forward much. These things take time."

"I guess if Sam really needed me, Mona would've mentioned it in her letter."

"Right. And if she were concerned, she would've planned to stay longer than a week. I know Mother. She pretends to be self-centered—all right, she is self-centered. But she does care about all of us very deeply."  
"Yeah."

"Tony, I know you prefer to go to the open-air market in the morning, but could you wait till the afternoon? And then you could call the kids. At least let them know we're thinking of changing our plans."

"Good idea. And if it sounds like Sam needs me, would it be OK if we flew back in a couple days? I'm sure Rosa will understand."

"La famiglia," I murmur.

He smiles. And then he gives me a butterfly flutter hug. I laugh, remembering how I told him six years ago that I wanted his family to be my family, "you know what I mean."

"So are we telling Aunt Rosa about the maybe baby?" I tease.

"No! Although don't be surprised if she asks why we haven't had any bambinos yet. Especially since I told them six years ago that we'd get married someday."

"Well, we did, didn't we?"

"Yeah, but not as quickly as they'd have liked."

"I wouldn't have minded it being quicker."

"Well, you may've been ready then, but I wasn't."

"I know, Tony," I say softly.

"So, uh, have you reached ovulation yet?"

"No, not yet. Trust me you'll know."

"OK. You promise not to jump me on the plane?"

"Well, it will be a ten-hour flight."

He laughs and then kisses me, and not just on the cheek. "So, uh, there's still a chance you can conceive even when it's not ovulation, right?"

"Oh, yes." I don't say that that's happened to many women who weren't trying to get pregnant.

"Well, just to be sure, maybe we should give it another try."

"Yes, if at first you don't succeed," I tease.  
Of course every time we make love, it's a success, even if it's not a conception. And we both know that. But by this point, our hypothetical child has almost become a running joke. Obviously, we'll be thrilled when it finally happens, but we do try to keep our sense of humor about the process and the wait. And, yes, I know, we haven't been trying for even a month yet.

"You know, if we stay with Rosa and visit the vineyard, that gives us extra time in Italy. More chances for a 'made in Italy' baby," I point out.

"Yeah, but we might get a winey baby. Get it, 'winey'?"

I groan. "Yes, I get it."

"But that would just be sour grapes."

"Tony!"

"OK, I'll stop the puns."

"Thanks a bunch."

Now he groans.

And then within half an hour we're groaning for a much more pleasant reason. Even though I know our honeymoon is far from over, the end is now in sight and that makes me a little sad. I want this honeymoon, and this lovemaking, to go on forever, but of course it can't. Real life is waiting round the corner, ready to intrude again. At least we were lucky enough to escape it for awhile.

"Do you want to come over with me?" Tony asks a few hours later.

"No, I think I'll just sunbathe a bit."

"You know if I believed you, I'd be very tempted to stay."

"Why don't you believe me?"

"Because I know you. As soon as you're alone, you'll work on that account, even though Mona said it wasn't urgent."

"Well, I might mull it over while I'm sunbathing."

He kisses my cheek. "Don't work too hard, Cara Mia. You can do that on the plane."

"If I'm not too busy luring you into the restroom."

"Or the cockpit."

"Oh, you!"

"What?" he says innocently, as if he can deny the dirty pun.

"Go to the market. Call your daughter."

"Should I call Sam or Jonathan?"

"Call both if necessary, although I think they've been hanging out a lot this summer, so one call may do it. Tell them I love them and miss them." I do love them. Maybe I haven't missed them as much as I should've. I feel a little guilty about that.

"Of course."

He gives me a warm hug and kiss goodbye and then, whistling, he heads downstairs. I go to a window where I can see him when he crosses the bridge on foot. He must know I'm watching, because he blows me a kiss. I blow one back.

Then I pick up the two letters. I reread my aunt-in-law's first, although I have to consult the phrasebook in Tony's absence. Basically, it says what you'd expect, that Anthony must bring his beautiful if no longer so young bride to see them again, now that we are married and in Italy. We are family and must stay as long as possible.

As for Mother, well, I won't paraphrase it, since I have an odd feeling that there's something to be translated here as well.

_July 26th, 1994_

_Dear Tony and Angela,_

_Now don't overreact when you see that this came by express mail rather than the regular method. It would take at least eight days if I just posted it, and by then you'll be on the cruise ship coming home. This way I can get the letter to you in three or four days, even in your remote fortress._

_And don't worry that I'm writing to you at all, disturbing your idyllic honeymoon. Everything is fine. I'm fine, the kids are fine, the agency is fine. Tony's Jeep is even fine. I can say this firsthand because I took a little break from the film in order to come home for about a week, just to make sure everything was fine._

_Samantha seems to be starting to get her life back together. She's not going to contest the divorce and she's starting to look ahead to the future. In fact, she has a promising job interview in a couple days. Tonight I'll help her decide on an outfit. As for Jonathan, he's mostly having a lazy summer, but he studied hard his first year at MIT and he deserves to relax. And he and Sam have been shooting hoops and throwing Frisbees, so it's not as if they've been couch potatoes. They've mostly been using Sam's car if they go anywhere, so, Tony, your Jeep should be as you left it._

_As for the agency, Jack is on top of things, as he was when Angela went to Iowa. There is a slight snag with the Fall campaign for Drucker's Dress Shop, but they should work it out by the time you're home. Something about sleeveless vs. strapless, I don't know the details. And if they don't work it out, well, it'll probably keep till you're back._

_I'm not sure when I'll come back to Connecticut, but I'm afraid I probably won't be there to greet you. You'll have to greet me. Definitely by the time Jonathan heads back to school, and I'll try for Sam's birthday. I'll update you on Heather and Michael's baby then, if there's any news there, although I suppose they won't rush to tell me if there is. Still, as the child's half-brother's grandmother, I have a right to know, don't you think?_

_Have fun,_

_Mother Mona_

So you can see why I start jotting down ideas on the back of Mother's letter, trying to recall what I can about the Drucker account. I can't do a full campaign revamp, especially without being able to consult my staff, but maybe I'll call Jack from Rosa's house, just to check in. It's been a few days since Mother wrote the letter and it may all be settled by the time I call.

It is nice to think about advertising again. I have missed it a little. But I think I adapted to this life of decadent leisure much more easily than Tony did. He seems happy to do the housework here. (Castlework?) I in contrast have been very idle. Well, I've read a little, but nothing too challenging. Oh, and I've taught myself some Italian of course, but not enough to get by if I were on my own.

Although I'm not much of an artist, I want to sit out in the sunshine and do some rough sketches for the campaign. I grab my pen and some scratch paper and then go out onto the balcony that faces towards the bridge. I imagine Tony in the marketplace, haggling and joking in his best Italian. I also picture him calling our children, nagging and rejoicing. (I'm hoping Sam got the job she interviewed for this week, even though Mother didn't send any details.)

I find myself doodling Tony's face and then Sam's and Jonathan's and even Mother's. I also try to sketch our baby, but it's hard without knowing what features he or she will get from each side. And I also try to capture some of this beauty that surrounds me. And then finally I settle in enough that I can draw sleeveless and strapless dresses.

And then once when I look up, I see Tony crossing the bridge back. He's running so fast that he's passing the bus and the cars! I can't see his face but he's not carrying groceries.

I set down the pen and paper and go downstairs. By the time I take the elevator down from the castle to sea level, he's running up to me. I haven't seen such a panic-stricken look on his face in at least two years. Not since Sam's elopement I think.

"Pack your bags, Angela!" he yells. "We've got to go home!"


	37. Lanai

My first thought when I wake up is _I'm so wrapped up in the drama of Sam's life, I'm starting to dream about talking to Hank. _And then I remember, it was a real midnight conversation.

I went to bed early last night. Even though yesterday hadn't been that eventful compared to some of the days this summer, I still felt drained. I really wanted to invite Sam in, not let her go up to her apartment. But we promised Grandma we'd cool it down. It was fun hanging out with her, even listening to the kids' music in the car (it wasn't as bad as I expected), and I miss having the friendship we used to have. But I don't even know if I can be around her much, now that we're on our own again. Anyway, I fell asleep and it was nice to escape reality for a little while.

Until I dreamed of Sam and, uh, we weren't just talking. After I, ahem, dealt with that, I wondered what to do next. Could I call her? I knew it was too late at night to visit her. Or should I just keep this to myself? After all, if we're cooling it down, I shouldn't burden her with my lingering desire. Let her think I'm working on getting over her.

Although I'd had a three-piece meal with sides and a biscuit, that was hours before and I was hungry again. Sam sometimes teases that I'm still a growing boy, and food is an appetite I can indulge. So I decided to head down for a midnight snack.

I almost screamed when I saw someone lying on the couch in the dark. I think I did jump. I figured it wasn't a burglar, since burglars don't break in and then nap on the job. I turned on the light and the figure on the couch jumped and screamed.

"Hank?" I stared at him. Why was he crashing in my living room? And he'd been sleeping in his clothes, so I guessed this wasn't planned.

"Jonathan?" He blinked at me. "What are you doing?"

"What am I doing? This is my house! Why are you on my couch?"

"Sam didn't think you'd mind."

"Sam?" That meant he'd talked to her. In person? On the phone? And that still didn't explain why he was on my couch.

He sighed. "Yeah, it's a long story."

"You want some pie?" I asked. Grandma bought some Bavarian chocolate mint cream pie before she left, but the three of us didn't finish it yet.

"Pie?"

"Yeah, we could talk and eat in the kitchen."

"What is this, _The Golden Girls_?"

"Would you rather go to the lanai?"

He chuckled and followed me through the swinging door.

I took out the pie and got some plates, forks, and a knife. It did occur to me that maybe I'd be eating with the enemy. After all, he's Sam's ex. He broke her heart. He cheated on her. He filed for divorce. On the other hand, if she was angry at him, then she wouldn't have let him stay the night so close to her.

"How big a slice do you want?"

"Just a small one. We should probably leave most of it for Sam, right?"

"Well, it is her favorite."

"Yeah, and she's pregnant."

"Uh, yeah."

"So you know about that?"

"Well, yeah, we've been hanging out. And, um, she needed someone to talk to."

"Right. You guys are pretty good friends, huh?"

I didn't look at him as I sliced off a very thin piece for him and a regular size for me. "Well, she's my stepsister."

"Yeah, and you've known each other a long time."

"Yeah." I put the pieces on plates and got the forks.

"So maybe you can tell me what's going on with her."

I slowly came back to the table with the plates and forks. "Going on?"

"Thanks," he said, taking his plate. "Yeah. OK, I understand. I cheated on her. I left her. But the Sam I married had a temper."  
"The Micelli temper."

"Yeah. But when I told her about Lisa, she didn't scream at me. She didn't throw things. She just cried."

I almost told him she cried for another month or two after that, off and on, although she did her best to keep it bottled up. But I didn't want him to know, whether it'd make him feel guilty or flattered.

"Did she cry tonight?" I asked. Oh, Sam, my Sam! OK, not "my Sam," but I wish I could go comfort her.

"No. I mean she wasn't happy. But I don't know. She wasn't how I expected."

"What did you expect?"

He looked down at his plate, although he wasn't eating. "Well, I wanted her to take me back."

"Oh."

"I know I made a big mistake, but I'm willing to make it up to her. To prove myself again. And she wasn't interested."

"Oh," I said again. I was afraid to say more.

"I mean, we're going to have a baby together!"

"I know," I said quietly.

"And kids are better off with two parents."

"Sam and I both grew up with single parents."

"Yeah, but you had Tony and she had Angela, so it's not the same. Sam doesn't have anybody if we don't get back together."

"Yes, she does," I said and then wanted to punch myself.

"She does?"

"I mean, she's got the family."  
"Well, yeah, but, no offence, you're almost a kid yourself and you're usually away at college, and you'll go off and have your own life. And, Mona, well, she's always had her own life."

"Sam's got our parents."

"Yeah, but it's not the same as having a husband."

"No, we won't leave her for another woman."

He reacted like I punched him. He looked shocked and hurt.

"I'm sorry."

"No, that's fair. I deserved that."

"Hank, are you through with the other woman?"

"Lisa? I thought I was. I mean, I love her, too, but she understands that Sam is having my baby."

"Are you going to move back to Connecticut or stay in California?"

"I don't know. I don't know what I'm going to do, about anything."

"You can be an involved father without living with Sam."

He sighed. "I guess. Yeah. I mean, I'm not going to abandon my kid like your dad did."

Now I felt like he'd punched me.

"I'm sorry. I mean, I know your dad is still in your life, but I don't want just occasional visits like you had."

"Hank, you still haven't explained why you were sleeping on my couch."

He blushed a little. "I wanted to stay in the apartment but Sam wouldn't let me."

"Oh."

"Also, my mom was hoping Sam and I would get back together, and I couldn't deal with her sympathy tonight."

"OK."

"I'll go home in the morning."

"Are you going to be in Connecticut for awhile?"

"Yeah, there's some stuff I have to do for the divorce, since it looks like we're going through with that. And I need to think about whether I want to ask Lisa to take me back."

"Whose couch will you sleep on if she says no?"

"Ha ha, Jonathan," he said, and then we ate our pie in silence, unlike Rose and Blanche.

Then we said goodnight and I went back to bed.

Sam apparently didn't tell him about the fling, not that I really would expect her to. Maybe if it was ongoing, although there's no reason he has to know, when no one but Grandma does. Did she reject him because of me? Or were there enough other reasons?

What would I have done if she hadn't? What if they'd kissed last night? What if she invited him back into their bed? Could I blame her for that? After all, he's her husband and she has no commitment with me. She never wanted to make one and Grandma discouraged it. And even if she had wanted to, I say to myself for the hundredth time this summer, _She's your stepsister. There is no possible romantic future._

I get up and shower, then dress. I wonder if Hank will still be there. For all I know, he hasn't really given up, and he's out buying Sam flowers. Unless he showed up with some last night? Or maybe I'm having breakfast with Hank. Maybe all three of us will have breakfast together, like in some 1930s movie that Mom and Tony would make us watch. I can just see Sam in an elegant white silk dressing gown.

On my way downstairs, the phone rings. I decide to wait till I get to the living room before I answer it, although the upstairs extension is closer. If it wakes up Hank, too bad.

But by the time I reach the ground floor, I hear the ringing stop and Hank sleepily say, "Hello?"

I look over at him. "Who is it?"

"I don't know. They hung up without saying anything."

"Oh. Maybe they thought they had the wrong number."

"Yeah, maybe. Sorry I answered."

"It's OK. I wasn't expecting anyone to call."

"I was."

"You were?"

"Yeah, this is sort of embarrassing, but I thought it might be Sam."

"No, she would just come over."

"Yeah, right. I just woke up. I'm not thinking clearly."

"Right."

"I hope that wasn't Lisa."

"Lisa?"

"Yeah, even though we broke up, she still cares."

"Why would she call and then hang up? And why not call at your old place?"

"Well, she wouldn't want Sam to answer."

"Right."

"I wonder if I should call her back."

"Well, don't do it from here."

"No, that would be tacky."

"Not to mention long distance."

He laughs. "Right. Hey, Jonathan, thanks for the pie and the talk last night."

"Hey, you're still sort of family, right?"

"Right. And, Jonathan, take care of Sam."  
"Take care of her?"

"Well, yeah, I know your parents are off on that Italian honeymoon Angela announced at Sam's graduation party. And Sam may be more independent than I remembered, but she could still use a friend."

I don't believe this! He's telling me to do what I've been trying to do all summer, the fling aside. But I just nod and say, "I'll do my best."

Then we awkwardly hug goodbye and he leaves.

I want to talk to Sam, but I think this is one time when I have to wait for her to come to me. I won't even call her. I'll just wait. OK, if I don't hear from her by the time she's supposed to have her three-month exam, then I'll go to her. Or if Mom and Tony come back in the meantime of course.


	38. Un' Emergenza Familiare Urgente

I stare out at the night sky. It's going to be a very long night. A ten-hour flight plus the six hour time change.

I glance over at Angela. Good, she's napping. I don't resent it. I'm glad she can rest, even if I can't.

I could try to read a magazine, or one of Angela's books, but I can't think about anything but the last 36 hours.

I crossed the bridge on foot. It was another perfect day in Paradise. Time was running out, but I would try to carry this happiness with me.

I decided to call the kids first, before going to the market. I wanted to save that for last, saying goodbye to all the people I've gotten to know, like Leonardo, the wine merchant who got me the Micelli Rosso, and Signora Rossini, who runs the fish stand and reminds me of "my" Mrs. Rossini.

I went to the pub and explained about wanting to call America collect. I guess I have an honest face, or maybe being Italian (if americano as well) helped. They let me use the phone in the kitchen. It was a little noisy because the lunch crowd was still there, but that made me happy. It felt like "the real Italy," and I thought of sharing it with Sam and Jonathan indirectly. (Sam came on the trip to the vineyard, but Mona and Jonathan stayed home because he had a big test coming up and she had a big date coming up.)

I decided to call the house first before the apartment. It was 8 a.m. in Connecticut, so Sam might be over for breakfast by then. And if not, well, Jonathan could relay the message and I could call her in a couple days, from either Rosa's house or the cruise ship.

The phone rang a few times and then I heard a sleepy young male voice say, "Hello?" But it wasn't Jonathan. It was Hank!

What the hell was Hank doing there? You don't cheat on your wife, leave her, and then start to divorce her, only to end up at her father's house when he's on vacation.

I should've yelled at him, demanded to know what was going on, but I followed my first instinct, which was to hang up on him.

"Va tutto benne, Signor?" asked the cook.

"Sì, sì, ma non sono a casa."

"Che peccato."

I stumbled out of the kitchen and through the pub, in a daze. Maybe Sam and Jonathan weren't home. Otherwise, they wouldn't have let Hank answer the phone, right? None of this made any sense. All I knew was that I had to get home as soon as possible.

First that meant getting "home" to the castle. I ran faster than I can ever remember running, even when I played for the Cards. As I ran out of town, waving at my acquaintances in the market, and then to and across the bridge, I decided that something had gone seriously wrong with Sam and Hank.

Not the divorce though. I was actually afraid that they'd gotten back together. After all, I hadn't talked to her in a month. Maybe he broke up with Whatshername and now he and Sam were so cozy that he was hanging out at my house, my and Angela's house.

I felt that the only way to get to the bottom of this was to talk to Sam face to face. After all, she could've written to me if she were considering getting back with Hank. I didn't like the idea of her keeping secrets from me. Not that I was thrilled that she had forgiven him, but she still could've told me.

Angela must've seen me crossing the bridge, because she met me at the bottom of the elevator. I ran up to her and, not caring that tourists were around, I yelled, "Pack your bags, Angela! We've got to go home!"

She stared at me and then she pressed the elevator button and pulled me inside as soon as the doors opened. On the way up, I told her what had happened and how I felt. I expected her to argue with me, to say we couldn't just leave, and at the least I should call Sam's apartment. But she took my hand and said, "If you want to go, we'll go. But we'll need to get to Rome, and we'll need to do this properly."

I kissed her for that, for agreeing with me but also for being sensible about it. I wouldn't have gotten through all the craziness in my life the past decade, much of it Sam-related now that I think about it, if not for Angela.

She had me clean while she packed for both of us, knowing I needed to do something constructive but something I could do without thinking. I thought of doing a load of laundry but there just wasn't time. (Sometimes I would use the washer but dry the clothes and linens in the sunlight, but now there wasn't even time for the dryer, though I did throw some sheets in the washer, just so it would be one less thing for the cleaning crew to deal with when we left.)

I focused on the kitchen and our favorite bedroom and bathroom. I couldn't do the whole castle of course. I used to be the fastest housekeeper in Connecticut, but it still took me two or three hours to clean Angela's large house, which looks like a shack compared to the castle.

After she packed, she called a taxi and then went to leave the keys with the castle caretaker, using the phrasebook to say that we had to leave early due to "un'emergenza familiare urgente, ma non fatale." Then she came back and I was more than ready to go. Luckily, it wasn't too long a wait for the taxi.

We caught the next ferry to the mainland and then the next train to Naples. There was a wait for the next train to Rome, so I called Aunt Rosa from a phone booth, apologizing but not going into detail, just that there was trouble in Sam's marriage and I had to straighten it out.

Then it was on to Rome. I wanted to head straight to the airport, but Angela said it might be hours or even days before we could get a flight.

"Days?!"

"Probably not days. But let me call my travel agent. She can probably do it faster from her end. Also, she can make the arrangements with the cruise ship and figure out how to do this all as inexpensively as possible."

"Screw the expense, Angela! My daughter is ruining her life! Again!"

"That's easy for you to say, Tony, since I'm paying for this trip."

"Fine, Angela, take it out of my teaching salary! If money is all you care about."

People were looking at us on the train, and not like on the way south, where we seemed to be such a cute, happy couple.

"Tony, there's no need to shout at me. I'm trying to help you."

"I'm sorry, Baby." I gave her a quick hug. "It's just this whole thing is driving me crazy, and I feel so helpless being too far away to do anything."

"I know, but we do need to think things through."

I swallowed hard. "OK. What's next?"

"We enjoy this beautiful scenery."

I nodded and looked out the window, but it might as well have been Detroit for all I cared.

We got to the train station in Rome and collected the baggage as quickly as we could, but then a girl of about three, a black-haired little butterball, flew at me, crying, "Nonno!"

"Tony, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Well, yeah, one summer in the early '70s, I came over to Italy to visit relatives and I met a girl."

"Uh huh."

"Come on, Angela, this kid is not my granddaughter." But with the girl hugging my knee, it probably didn't sound too convincing.

"Rosita, che è tuo cugino Tony, ricordi?" said a pretty and pregnant young woman I'd never seen before in my life, although I do have a lot of distant relatives in Italy, so who knew?

"Cousin Tony!" cried a more familiar voice. I looked and saw Cousin Maurizio coming over. He had a moustache, but I'd recognize that smile, and my old baseball cap, anywhere.

So there was a bunch of hugging and kissing. (My lessons to Angela six years ago paid off, although they were fun to give in of themselves.) Maurizio explained that Rosa had called him and, since Maurizio and his family live in Rome, they had to come meet us.

I appreciated that but I really didn't feel like dealing with la famiglia right then. But Angela asked if she could make a collect call from their apartment, and Maurizio said, "Naturalmente!"

So then the five of us piled into Maurizio's Fiat and we headed to their place. His wife, Lina, doesn't know much English but Maurizio and I were able to translate for Angela, although I was embarrassed when Lina referred to Maurizio's "infatuazione," like she thought it was cute. I had to be very careful translating, "Ha ragione, avete belle gambe per una signora anziana." Angela was very embarrassed by "He's right, you do have nice legs," but she would've been a hell of a lot more embarrassed if I'd left in "for an older lady."

Lina insisted on cooking dinner for us and of course I couldn't say no. That would be un-Italian. But it was hard to eat or make conversation.

Angela called her travel agent before dinner but the agent had to work out the details and didn't call back till about an hour after dinner. I was playing with Rosita, who really is cute, although indeed like a miniature Aunt Rosa.

"OK, Tony, she got us on the 1 a.m. flight to New York."

"Honey, that's great! You're the best. Maurizio, Lina, sorry we can't stay longer but—"

"No, Tony. Not tonight. Tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow?"

"I'm sorry, it's the best she could do."

I sighed. I felt angry at the travel agent, at Angela, at Sam, at Hank, and of course at myself. But there was nothing that could be done, and at least we'd still get home much more quickly than if we took the cruise ship. So I took a deep breath and tried to let my anger go.

"We did get a refund on the return cruise."

"Well, that's something. Thanks again, Lina, for the great dinner. Maurizio, we won't impose on you any longer—"

"Impose? But you're family! You must stay here tonight and then I will drive you to the airport tomorrow night."

I thought of objecting. I mean, they've got a little two-bedroom apartment. But I glanced at Angela and then at my cousins, and I knew that there was no point in arguing. Besides, I didn't feel like dealing with a hotel, especially since we'd have to check out in the middle of the next night.

I knew I wouldn't get any sleep that night, especially since Maurizio and Lina offered to have Rosita share their bed, and Angela and I would have had to take Rosita's little bed. It ended up being Angela sleeping on the couch, while I sat up in a chair, my mind going in circles. And I got circles under my eyes of course.

I thought about calling home again, but I was afraid of saying the wrong thing and having Sam (or Hank!) hang up on me. It would have to wait awhile longer.

It was a very long night, after all those nights alone with Angela that would've seemed too short if I hadn't known we'd have the daytime, too. I felt guilty, selfish, even if it hadn't been my fault, or hers.

Lina made breakfast in the morning. I offered to help, but she told me not to be silly.

They did the tourist thing with us that day. Again, I could've said no. It wasn't like I could appreciate even the Sistine Chapel, but they wanted to show their "American cousins" a good time.

We went out to lunch with Maurizio's sister Laura, who's about 25 now. She's a "zitella," a spinster, but she seems happy. (Rosa apparently is giving her the marriage &amp; bambinos speech these days.) She's a fashion designer and sent her love to Sam, thanking her again for the Bruce Springsteen poster, which she still has.

Rosita kept calling me "Nonno," and I finally told Lina it was fine, I didn't mind. I would like a granddaughter someday, but obviously that's gonna be a few years yet, unless Sam indeed made up with Hank. But I don't think either of them is mature enough to be a parent, even if they do work out their problems. And, yeah, I don't really feel old enough to be a grandfather, whether or not Angela and I have a baby together next year.

We killed some more time, including another good dinner by Lina, and finally it was time to head to the airport. Maurizio didn't tell me that Aunt Rosa and Cousin Dominick would be there. Dominick must be pushing 80, and he walks slower than ever. I had a real hard time keeping my temper, with him shuffling along, and Rosa nagging at me. But Angela put her hand on my arm, and that calmed me down a little. Mostly though, I couldn't wait to get on the plane.

And now I'm here and I can't go anywhere except up and down the aisles, and not during the times we have to have our seatbelts fastened. I think of when the family went to Washington on the train, and I didn't sleep the night before. Then I couldn't sleep on the delayed train because I had to sleep with Angela. I would prefer that right now. At least then, I knew exactly what was going on.

OK, our arrival time is 5 a.m. by New York time. Then, what, a couple hours coming home in a cab? I wish I could call Jonathan to pick us up, but then I'd probably end up grilling the poor kid. This can't have been an easy summer for him. He's supposed to have been just relaxing after working hard at his first year of college. It was irresponsible of me to leave. I'm a terrible father!

"No, you're not," Angela murmurs.

I glance over at her. Her eyes are shut. Is she talking in her sleep? (It wouldn't be the first time.)

"I'm not?" I ask quietly.

"Not whatever you're telling yourself. Tony, we have a right to be happy together. We waited so long!"

"Yeah, I know, Angela, but I'm still going to blame myself."

"You're a good father, Tony. Of course, Michael thinks I'm a terrible mother, so maybe I'm no judge."

I take her hand and squeeze it. "You're wonderful. In every way."

She squeezes back. "So are you."

My mind isn't at ease of course, but she has soothed me enough that I can nap, for a half hour anyway.


	39. Houston

"Sam, what are you doing here?"

"You know what I want, Jonathan. I keep thinking about it. And I have to finish what I started."

"OK, but do you at least want a fork?"

I guess eating the Bavarian chocolate mint cream pie with my hands would be piggish of me, even if Baby X is demanding it. OK, I'm probably not really getting pregnancy cravings yet, but it's a good excuse.

"Yeah, thanks. And thank you for not eating it all in the last few days."

"Well, we wanted to save it for you."

"We?"

"Hank and I."

"God, he's not still here, is he?"  
"No, he left a couple days ago."

"Oh, good." I grab a fork, sit down, and start eating.

He pulls up another chair. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shrug.

"He said you wouldn't take him back."

I swallow. "Right. There's not really much more to say."

"Were you, um, were you tempted?"

I sigh. "Well, yeah. He was my husband. Still is, technically. If he came back a month or so ago, then I probably would've."

"OK. Um, is it because of the baby?"

"Well, sort of. I mean, I have to think about what's right for Baby X. But I don't think me and Hank being together is what's right. For the baby or me. Probably not even for Hank."

"He told me a little about Lisa."

"Yeah, there's that, too."

"Sam, is it my fault that you're not with Hank?"

"Fault? Why not credit?"

"OK. Is it to my credit?"

"Sort of. I mean, we can't be together but it was better than what I'd have with Hank now." I silently add _Maybe it was better than it ever was with Hank. And not just the sex._

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." I eat some more pie. "You want some?"

He shakes his head. "No, it's OK. I was gonna have cereal for breakfast."

"Not Crunchy Crawlers I hope. Those are empty calories."

"Yeah. Sam, do you realize that one of our very first conversations was about whether our parents were talking about sex?"

"Right. No wonder we're both so warped."

We laugh.

Then he frowns. "He said you didn't cry."

"Oh, did he want me to cry?"

"No, it's just you seemed different. Stronger I guess."

"Well, I cried after he left, but, yeah."

"Oh, Sam, why didn't you come over? Or at least call."

I shake my head. "Then we would've started the whole you-comforting-me cycle again and we know where that leads."

"So now I can't be sympathetic to you without us ending up in bed together?"

"I don't know." I really don't.

"Sam. I love you."

I look up from the pie, speechless. (Me, not the pie. Well, the pie, too.)

"I mean as a friend. Well, not just a friend. I mean, I'm not in love with you. But I care about you."

"I know, Jonny, I care about you, too." I need to stop calling him that. It's too cute.

He smiles a little then sighs. "I don't think Grandma wanted us to totally avoid each other the rest of the summer."

"Hey, I'm here in the kitchen, aren't I?"

"I thought that was just for the pie."

"No, not just for the pie."

He shakes his head. "Why is it that I could be away from you for months in Cambridge and not miss you as much as I do after a couple days when you're right across the driveway?"

"I know. Maybe it's that we've gone to bed together, but I don't think that's all of it. I mean, we've gotten really close. And we haven't spent much time with other people since Dad and Angela left."

"Yeah. I guess we should hang out with other friends."

"I do owe Bonnie a phone call."

"Yeah, you have a lot to update her on, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"You're not going to tell her about me, are you?"

"Of course not!"

"Well, she used to be your best friend."

"Yeah, well. But there's no way I could tell her this story, even if I changed your identity."

"Yeah, when I'm sitting around the dorms playing Truth or Dare, I'm going to have to lie my butt off."

I laugh, although I'm not sure he was trying to be funny. He smiles a little.

"You could always take a Dare."

"Yeah. But then that's how I ended up kissing you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, one month ago today. You dared me to kiss you."

"Well, yeah, sort of."

"You were trying to prove to me that you're not attracted to me."

"I think I was trying to prove it to myself."

"And we know how that turned out."

We gaze into each other's eyes, and there's a dare in both pairs I think. And the next thing I know, we're kissing! It's intense enough that I get chocolate, mint, and whipped cream from my face onto his.

When we stop he says, "Um, happy one-month anniversary."

"Yeah."

"So, uh, I guess we should call Grandma now."

"Have you ever heard the expression it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission?"

"What do you mean?"

"How about we go to bed and then call her later?"

"Tempting, but that's not the agreement."

I sigh. "Why do you have to be so sensible?"

"Someone has to balance your romantic impulsiveness."

"I guess."

"I am flattered that you refused Hank and want me."

"Well, it's not much of a compliment considering how he's treated me."

"OK." He gets a napkin and wipes both our faces.

"Thanks."

"That's better," he says and then gives me a soft, sweet kiss.

"Um, Jonathan?"

"We should have a good reason for calling her, right? Not foreplay but not just one kiss."

I laugh but then he strokes my hair. I pull away. "OK, we're calling her right now!"

"But, Sam—"

"I'm going to call her from the living room and you can be on the phone in here."

"We're calling Mona Robinson at, let's see, 5 a.m. California time? Sam, you know my grandmother is not a morning person, especially not a crack of dawn person."

"Well, maybe she's just coming home from a fabulous Hollywood party."

"On a Monday?"

"Jonathan. We need to call."

"But, Sam, we haven't even necked yet!"

I laugh. "So you want us to make out and then stop in the middle of it and go, 'Oh, darn, time to call our sexaholic sponsor!' "

"I guess you're right. Better to stop when it's easy."

"Right." I don't say that it's hard to stop even when it's just kissing. He knows that as well as I do. But it's easier than if we let this build.

"Let me at least put the pie away."

"OK, and I'll put the fork in the dishwasher."

"Your father would be so proud of us."

"Uh, yeah."

There's not much to clean up. He didn't even get around to eating cereal, too distracted.

He asks, "So what are we going to do if she doesn't answer?"

"Leave a message."

"With what? With who? The switchboard? She's staying in a hotel."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot that part."

"Maybe we should leave a coded message."

"Like what? 'Three dots, three dashes, three dots'?"

"I don't know! 'The Eagle has landed'?"

"That makes it sound like we already did it. I mean again."

"Um, 'Houston, we have a problem'?"

"Do you have any that are not inspired by NASA?"

"How about, 'We ate the pie'?"

I laugh. "No, that still sounds like consummation."

" 'We desperately want to eat the pie.' "

"Jonathan, that sounds really, um—"

"OK, I've got it. 'We dropped your earring down the sink.' "

I laugh again, but this time I say, "That's perfect!" I almost hug him but I stop myself. "OK, I'll go in the living room and start calling. If she picks up, I'll let you know. Otherwise, I'll just leave that message."

"OK. You don't mind if I get some cereal while I'm waiting?"

"No, go ahead. We might not get to talk to her for hours."

"Hours? How are we going to pass the time?"

"Jonathan," I warn.

"What?" He gives me the innocent big-brown-eyes.

I shake my head and push through the swinging door. I hesitate before dialing. Will it really do any good to call her? I mean, she could give us all the advice in the world, but how's she going to stop us when she's almost 3000 miles away? Unless she flies back again, but that might be too late.

And what am I going to say if I do get through to her? "Jonathan and I have started smooching again! Please help!"

"Mama," I whisper, "please help me." Somehow at this moment she seems closer than any of the "grown-ups" in my life. And I figure she can do more than Baby X can.

I wait a moment, but there's no response. So I pick up the receiver and I'm about to punch in the long distance number when I hear a car pull up. Hank? Bonnie? A saint with a bad muffler?

Before I can go look out the front window, or do more than set down the receiver, the door is yanked open and I hear the unmistakable voice of the one and only Anthony Morton Micelli demanding, "All right, where the hell is he?"


	40. Related Matters

I pay the cabbie as quickly as I can without being rude. I give him a nice tip to make up for Tony's impatience. Hopefully, the cabbie can get the taxi's muffler fixed soon.

"Thank you, Ma'am. And good luck with your daughter."

I don't bother explaining. I just nod. I pick up my bag and head towards the front door, which Tony has just yanked open. I can hear him demanding, "All right, where the hell is he?" That damn Micelli temper. Of course, he's hardly slept the last couple days, so that doesn't help.

I sigh and go inside as Sam says, "He's in the kitchen having breakfast. Why?"

"That's what I want to know: why?"

"Because he's hungry. I meant why do you want to know."

I shut the door quietly behind me, hoping the neighbors haven't heard much of this.

"Why do I want to know? Why do I want to know why your almost ex-husband is in eating in my kitchen?"

She shakes her head. "Hank's not here."

"He's not here? Well, he was here two days ago when I hung up on him!"

"You hung up on Hank?"

Jonathan enters from the kitchen, with a bowl of corn flakes and milk. "Um, hi, Guys. You're back."

I drop my bag and go to hug him.

"Uh, Mom. Let me set down my cereal first."

He does so and then I hug him. Then I glance over at Tony and his daughter, both looking angry and confused. This is not exactly the joyous reunion I imagined weeks ago.

"Let's sit down," I say, leading Jonathan over to the couch. Tony takes the chair nearest the front door, while Sam takes the one by the kitchen.

"Um, how was Italy?" Jonathan asks.  
"Beautiful!" I sigh.

"Yeah? Did you guys take lots of pictures?"

I look over at Tony, who almost smiles. Then back at my son. "No, we forgot to."

"You were in Italy a whole month and you didn't take any pictures?"

"I guess we were afraid we couldn't capture its beauty. And it always seemed like we'd have more time."

"Uh, yeah, you're back early."

"You bet we're back early!" Tony snaps. "Now, Sam, would you mind telling me why Hank was answering the phone?"

"Uh, excuse me," Jonathan says, and I expect him to leave the room since this has little to do with him. After all, I wonder if I should leave, since I'm only a Micelli by marriage. But he just goes and gets his cereal, then sits next to me again.

As if there's been no interruption, Sam says, "Well, Dad, Hank wanted to get back together."

"I knew it!"

"But I told him no."

"Oh."

"Why did he want to reconcile?" I ask. "Is it over with, um, with her?"

"Not necessarily," Jonathan mutters, and I wonder how much he knows.

"Not necessarily?!"

"Dad, can you please not yell?"

I can see Tony silently counting to ten, then he says, "I'll try."

"I was going to tell you about all this—"

"All what?"

"The stuff with Hank and related matters."  
"Related matters?!"

"Dad."

"Sorry."

"I was going to tell you in person. I just didn't know it would be this soon."

"Why did you hang up on Hank?" Jonathan asks.

"I don't know. I guess I was so surprised. It was an instinct."

"An instinct, Dad? And then you instinctively flew home as soon as you could? Without calling me to find out what's going on?"

"What good would that have done? You've obviously being keeping secrets, Samantha."

She looks at her hands and Jonathan, empathetic as always, eats some more cereal.

"Sam," I say gently, "why did Hank come back if he hasn't ended it with her?"

"He had. Or so he said. But he also said he loves both of us."

Tony shakes his head. "Sam, you don't need that. You deserve better than that."

She looks at him. "I know, Dad. You don't see him here, do you?"

"What was he doing here?"

"He didn't want to face his mom after I said no, so I let him sleep on the couch."

"That couch?" He points at the one Jonathan and I are sitting on. "What's wrong with the couch in your apartment?"

"Tony," I say quietly. "It's in her apartment."

"What? Sam, you don't have enough willpower to resist Hank if he spends the night? Angela resisted Brian, Brian Thomas when he showed up."

"That's not exactly the same thing, Tony. And please leave my exes out of it."

"Oh, that's right, Angela. You slept with Michael and he didn't even need to sleep on the couch first."

I stare at him, unable to believe he'd attack me like that, and in front of the children.

Jonathan looks at me. "Mom, you slept with Dad? That time he showed up and fired Tony?"

"Of course, Jonathan. I told you that at the time," Sam says. "Why else do you think she let him push her around like that?"

"He was not pushing me around!" I snap. "He was my husband and I thought we had a chance to start over."

Jonathan shakes his head. "At least Sam wasn't that stupid."  
"Why is everyone attacking me?"

The three apologies overlap.

"Never mind. Let's back up to why Hank chose to come back from California recently. Was this before or after the cooling-off period ended?"

"Um, right after."

"Was he having second thoughts about the divorce?"

"Well, yeah."

"Why? If he's so crazy about the new girl?" Tony demands.

She sighs. "Well, things have changed since he left."

"Changed in what way?"

"I'm, well, I'm pregnant."

I stare at her, speechless.

"YOU'RE PREGNANT?"

"How far along?" I manage to whisper.

"A little over two and a half months. It happened, um, about a week before he left me."

"And how long have you known this? WHEN THE HELL WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME, SAMANTHA?"

Jonathan flinches and I want to put my arm around him, protect him. I glance at Sam, who seems unfazed.

"I've known for sure for almost two weeks. I had no idea a month ago."

"No idea!? How can a grown married woman not know?"

"Well, she did get a C in Sex Ed in high school," Jonathan points out.

"Thanks, Dweeb," she says, as if they haven't grown up since those days.

"Tony, it is possible for a woman not to know," I say quietly. "Especially when Sam has been under stress with the divorce."

She nods. "Yeah, it just wasn't on my mind. My, um, my cycle didn't come, but I thought that was stress. Same thing with the vomiting, only that happened just once."

"Really? I had morning sickness a lot with Jonathan."

"I'm not surprised," she teases, and he gives her a grimace filled with corn flakes and milk. "Gross," she mutters.

I try to ignore this. "Sweetie, when you say you know for sure, did you take a home pregnancy test or see a doctor?"

"A doctor. I hope you don't mind, Angela. I saw your doctor."

"My doctor?" I'm trying to block out how jealous I am of Sam, having a baby when she wasn't even trying, when I really wanted one but, as far as I know, I did not conceive in Italy. Her seeing my doctor feels like a betrayal, whether by Sam or Dr. Hollis I don't know.

"Yeah, I hope that's OK."  
"Of course it is," I lie. "Dr. Hollis is very good." (Not a lie.) "Uh, she delivered Jonathan."

"Yeah, she told me. But I figure everyone is entitled to one mistake."

"Shut up," he says.  
"No, you shut up."

"Sam, you're doin' a real great job of convincing me you're mature enough to be a mom."

"Dad, this isn't like me going to a rock concert. I don't have to prove anything to you or ask your permission. I'm going to raise my child on my own, just like you did before you met Angela."

"Oh, just like that?"

"Yeah, just like that. I want to be a mom and I think we can all agree that being with Hank would not be in my best interests."

"Well, yeah, but—Sam, didn't you at least consider getting back with him?"

"Yes, Dad, I considered it, but it's like Angela and Michael. A lot of chemistry but nothing to build a life together."

"Well, isn't it too bad you didn't realize this two and a half years ago? Then we might not be having this conversation."

"Tony."

"Well, Dad, I didn't realize it. Just like Angela didn't realize it twenty years ago. But she got Jonathan, and I'm getting my baby, so maybe that makes it worthwhile."

I thought she was going to insult Jonathan again, but she smiles at him, like she knows what a blessing he was and is to me, truly the one good thing I got out of my marriage to Michael. I think she and I understand each other better than Tony, with his marriage to "Saint Marie," ever could.

"Sam, I'm sorry, I haven't congratulated you yet."

"It's not too late," she says with a smile.

We both stand up and hug, a good, long mother-daughter hug. I do love her, even if I'm jealous. I can't be selfish about this. It's not her fault that the timing happened the way it did, and she doesn't know that I've been hoping for my own baby.

"Thank you, Angela," she says as we let go.

"You're welcome, Sweetheart. And remember, even if you're going to be divorced, you won't be on your own. You've got all of us."

"Thanks, 'Granny.' " I flinch and she laughs. "Sorry."

I know she's teasing, but honestly, I hadn't imagined having a "grandchild" so soon. Jonathan is only 18 and he needs to finish college. Plus, he's never had a serious girlfriend. As for Sam, oh, the idea passed through my mind when she got married so young, but she promised me and Tony that she and Hank would wait till she finished college. When he left her right after she graduated, I figured it would be years before she'd remarry. And in any case, I was mostly thinking in terms of how Tony would feel about grandfatherhood.

I look over at him. He stands up. "Sam Honey, I'm sorry I reacted like that. I just feel like your life has changed so much since we left."

"I know, Dad." She laughs and cries at the same time, and he runs over and hugs her. I latch on.

Tony gestures for Jonathan to join us. Jonathan sets his bowl on the coffee table and slowly comes over to join the family hug. I wonder what he's feeling. Maybe he's tired of dealing with Sam's dramatic life. He's barely an adult. This must all seem so overwhelming to him. I hold him close inside the larger hug.

"Hey, all we need is Mona, and we'd be complete!" Tony says.

"Oh, can you imagine Mother's reaction when she finds out she's going to be a 'great-grandmother'?"

Sam pulls away and the hug breaks apart.

"Sam? You told her, didn't you?" Tony is doing his best not to yell.

"Well, yeah, when she was here for a week."

"You told Mona and you didn't tell us?"

"You told Mother and she didn't tell us?"

"It's not really news that you can give in a letter or a phone call," Jonathan points out.

"Yeah, and she doesn't know about Hank coming back. That was after she left."

"You know what, Sam? Do you know why I called the house and ended up hanging up on Hank?"

"You wanted to say hi after a month?"

"Yeah, don't get too mad at Sam for not calling. You never gave us the number to the castle."

"I didn't pay to have the phones connected." The kids look at me. "I was trying to economize." They laugh.

"Yeah, not her smartest move," Tony tells the kids.

"Excuse me for not knowing that Sam's life would turn into a soap opera in our absence."

Both kids find this really funny.

"Anyway," Tony says impatiently, "I called here because we were considering staying in Italy longer, so we could visit Aunt Rosa and everybody."

"I'm sorry I interfered with your plans."

He waves his hand dismissively. "That's not the point. The point is, we might've ended up coming back even later than mid-August. Were you gonna keep all this a secret till then?"

Sam sighs. "I don't know, Dad. You know now, OK? So what are you gonna do about it?"

"What am I gonna do? I'm going grocery shopping!"

The kids look at each other, then at Tony.

"Grocery shopping?" Jonathan repeats.

"Yeah, because my guess is you kids have been eating crap for a month and a half and I do not want my grandchild living on crap."

"Um, Tony, I don't think you should be driving," I gently say, "when you've hardly slept."  
"OK. Jonathan, you still got the keys to my Jeep?"

Sam reaches into her pocket and hands them over to Jonathan.

"Come on, Pal-o-Mine. Let's get some healthy food for your niece-or-nephew-to-be."

"OK."

The two men leave through the front door and then Sam looks at me and says, "Angela, can you help me eat one quarter of a Bavarian chocolate mint cream pie by the time they get back?"

I put my arm on her shoulder and say, "Sweetheart, you've come to the right person."


	41. Coast

I wait till the coast is clear before I visit Sam. I know, I know, I shouldn't go see her. But it's not like I'm going over there to fool around. And we really need to talk now that the folks are back.

To say that I was surprised by their return would be putting it mildly. At least I had the advantage of not seeing Tony the very first moment he stormed into the house. Poor Sam! I felt like a coward, hiding in the kitchen, but I was genuinely scared. I thought Tony had somehow realized, maybe through some sort of belated Italian father's intuition, that I'd slept with his daughter. The only thing I could be grateful for was that she hadn't been the 18-year-old virgin, although maybe technical adultery was worse in his book.

Then I realized he was angry at Hank, not me. And that that was who hung up a couple days ago. I should've mentioned it to Sam, so she wouldn't have been caught quite as much off guard, but I honestly forgot about it, with everything else I've got on my mind.

I decided that the best thing to do was come out of the kitchen and give Sam some support, although it was going to be tricky because I couldn't be there as her boyfriend, or best friend, or whatever. I had to play the kid brother again. You know, an innocent bystander.

And then there was poor Mom, caught in the crossfire. Trying to deal with Tony's temper and trying to be sympathetic to Sam, but probably very much surprised by all this.

But we got through it and I was hoping things would quiet down a little. Then Tony wanted me to go with him to the grocery store. I was hoping Mom would. But I could hardly say no. I felt sorry for Tony, too. He looked terrible. I could believe he'd hardly slept in two days. I remembered what he was like when he spoke before Congress. He wasn't that punchy this morning, but Mom was right that he shouldn't be driving.

So I went with him. It wasn't too bad. He didn't actually say much, beyond telling me items to get. He did ask if I thought it was really over with Sam and Hank. I said it seemed like it.

We saw some neighbors, who welcomed him back and asked how Italy was. He said it was good but he was jet-lagged. No one questioned him as to why he was shopping in his condition. They know him well enough to know how seriously he takes his household duties, even though he's no longer a housekeeper. They said they'd catch up with him when he was more rested. (I thank God that Joanne Parker wasn't one of them.)

We just got a bag of stuff for each refrigerator, ours and Sam's. Then we headed home.

Mom told Tony she'd take Sam's groceries over to her, while I put away the ones here. She sent him to bed and he reluctantly went. I wished I could trade with Mom and go to Sam's, but I didn't want to make her suspicious by suggesting that. After Mom came back, she said she was going to work in her home office, since she didn't feel up to going into the city today. It's a Monday and she has a lot to catch up on, but she can call the agency from home.

I know I should probably wait till tomorrow, when Mom's not at home, to visit Sam, but then Tony will probably be awake and hanging around home all day. It's too early for him to get ready for Fall classes. This might be my only chance for awhile. If they found out I visited Sam, well, they probably wouldn't think anything of it, but no sense risking extra questions.

I leave the house through the kitchen, rather than the back door, so Mom won't hear me from her office. I cross the driveway and head up the stairs to the apartment. I do my iambic knock. Now there's a reason to, so she knows she won't have to face Mom and Tony again.

She opens the door and smiles. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Come on in."

"Thanks."

She closes the door behind me. "So what are they up to?"

"Mom's working and Tony's napping."

"I'm sure all that yelling took it out of him."

"Sam, he's worried about you."

"I know. I'm Italian, too. We yell because we care."

"Right. How are you doing?"

She shrugs. "I was hoping August would be a little less crazy than July, but so far?"

I laugh. "Yeah."

"We were right not to tell them about us, right?"

"Are you kidding? Look how upset he got about the idea that you're with your husband again!"

"I know, and he was trying to talk me out of the divorce just a few weeks ago."

"Well, I think he doesn't like the idea that so much has happened without him knowing."

"I know. This is the man who memorized my drill team cheers. He's always been a very involved parent."

"Yeah. But look on the bright side."

"What's that?"

"Well, he'll spoil your baby rotten."

She smiles again. "True." She sighs. "Of course, meanwhile he'll nag me about taking care of myself now that I'm pregnant."

"Yeah, but you always knew he'd do that."

"Yeah. Jonathan, do you think they're happy or unhappy about this?"

"About your pregnancy?"

"Yeah."

"Don't know. I think they're mostly surprised right now."

"Yeah."

"Are you, are you disappointed they came back early?"

"I don't know. I mean, it's good to see them of course. But I'm going to miss it being just the two of us, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

"And I don't just mean the kissing and, and everything. But this was fun, wasn't it? I mean insane, too, but in a fun way."

"Yeah. College is going to seem pretty dull after this summer."

"For your sake, I hope so."

I laugh. "Thanks." Then I sigh. "Does it feel like we've been on our own little island, too? Just me and you, like it was just them in Ischia."

"Yeah. I mean, we've gone places and talked to other people, but yeah."

"That's probably not healthy, is it?"

She shrugs. "Maybe not. But then neither was getting romantically involved. But you notice something?"

"What?"

"I'm a lot more together than I was a month and a half ago. I don't cry, well, not as much. I don't mope around. OK, I'm still not eating as healthy as I should, but now I overeat because I'm pregnant, not because I'm depressed."

I smile at her. "And you stood up to your father."

"Yeah, and I'm mentally preparing to be a mom."

"And you didn't take Hank back when it was the easy thing to do."

"Right. And I got a job interview."

"Have you heard anything back?"

"No, not yet. But it's only been four days."

"It feels longer."

She laughs. "Yeah. And if I don't get this one, there are other jobs I can try for."

"See, Sam? I told you that you're wonderful. You just needed to see it."

"You're the wonderful one. You brought out the best in me without even knowing what you're doing."

"Beginner's luck."

Our eyes meet and it feels like we're going to kiss. And then the phone rings. We both laugh.

"Any bets on who that is?" she asks.

"Uh, Bonnie?"

"Hank!"

"Your dad calling because he's too worried to sleep."

"Mona with her slut's intuition."  
"Hey, that's my grandmother you're talking about!"

"Sorry. Her bimbo's intuition."

I snort.

She picks up the receiver and says hello. From the big grin on her face, I'm guessing it's not any of the people we guessed. "That's wonderful! Thank you! Yeah, see you tomorrow." She hangs up.

"You've won an MTV contest that you didn't even remember entering five years ago."

"Close. I won a career in the management of children's musicians."

"Oh, Sam, really?"

"Really."

We hesitate and then give each other a look like _Oh, what the hell, why not? _So we hug and kiss in celebration. I think we both know it's probably going to be the last time for a long while.

When we let go, she says, "Now can you promise me something?"

"Not to ask if I can sleep on your couch tonight?"

She laughs. "Besides that. Can you pretend to be surprised when I make my job announcement at dinner tonight?"

"Of course."

"Good."

"Um, I guess I should go."

She tousles my hair. "Take care of yourself, Snake-boy."

"You, too, Colonel Parker."

She grins.

"Or, considering how fat you're gonna get, should I say Colonel Porker?"

She tries to hit me as I move away but it turns into a little spank.

"Pervert," I whisper, and leave.


	42. Outlines

I look up from the lecture outlines I'm writing for this Fall and rest my hand. The library is pretty empty. I remember my first visit here, almost seven years ago. Sam had a study date with a college boy. Mason definitely wasn't a college man. He was a very young 15. But I didn't know that, and neither did Julia when I grilled her for information. So I showed up and embarrassed Sam. I had no idea then that either of us would be going to Ridgemont, let alone that I'd be teaching here.

I remember Mason later telling me he envisioned himself as waiting 15 years for Sam. Meanwhile, she'd marry some handsome, vacuous guy and have "six vacuous children." And then she'd fall for Mason. Well, she hasn't exactly done things according to his plan. Jesse definitely wasn't vacuous, and Hank wasn't either. (Todd and Chad were I guess.) Sam could never have a vacuous kid. A mall-and-phone-loving kid, yeah, but Sam is really smart, even if she's done some stupid things in her life.

I know, who hasn't? But you hope that you can save your kids from making mistakes. OK, Sam's mistakes are very different than the ones I've made. They're actually closer to the ones Mona and Angela made: getting married and/or pregnant too young.

I know that Angela has been more sympathetic to Sam than I have, and Mona probably was, too. I'm sorry, but Sam is too young to be a single mom. Even if Hank had been faithful and stuck around, she'd be too young to be a mom. Yes, I'm gonna do what I can for her and the baby—how could I not?—but I feel like I'm too young to have a kid with a kid.

And on the one hand, Sam doesn't want me "nagging" at her, and on the other, she likes me spoiling her, like buying her groceries when I get ours, especially since she's busier now with her new job.

I am proud of her for getting the job. She didn't tell them about her pregnancy till her first day at work. Her bosses are a nice couple in their 30s, with a little boy of their own. And it's kids' musicians that they manage, so obviously they're cool about her being a future mom. Also, she can do some of the work from home down the road. She's really lucky to have found the right job, especially at a time with so much craziness in her life.

Do I think she should've taken Hank back? I go back and forth on this, and not just because divorce is against my religion. I mean, he was willing to give up the girlfriend and really earn Sam's trust back. The baby would be better off with two parents. But he did cheat on Sam, and he still loves the other woman. It's a bad situation all around. And, yeah, I know, I'm one to talk, but I never pretended to be in love with Kathleen. Hell, I hadn't even admitted I was in love with Angela, and I had been for years at that point.

Anyway, I'm going to be a grandfather. And part of me is thrilled about that. I always pictured having grandkids, although not this soon. Sometimes I picture a little boy and other times a little girl, but either would be fine.

But, yeah, I was getting used to the idea of being a father again. Angela hasn't got her period again, and it's too soon to tell, so I might end up with a baby and a grandbaby in the same year.

Angela is more pessimistic about it. Our first night back, I held her as she cried quietly. (She didn't want to disturb Jonathan.) She kept saying how sorry she was for being jealous about Sam's pregnancy, but I said she had every right to be.

"It's just I feel like Sam is having the baby we should've had, and now I have to wait. Like when she got married before we did and then for awhile it felt like we'd never get married."

"I know, Cara Mia, but we did get married eventually. And our relationship is built to last, unlike Sam and Hank's."

"I hope so. I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you again."

I kissed her hair, still golden from the Italian sunlight it soaked up last month. "That won't happen. We're too smart to get lost again."

She laughed. "I hope so." Then she sighed. "And I am happy in a way that there will be a baby in the house. Well, in the apartment next door."

"We can babysit all you want. I'm sure Sam will appreciate it, especially now that she's got a new job."

She nodded. "That will be fun. But it's not the same."

"I know, Sweetheart, I know. You want our baby."

"Yes. But I was thinking this afternoon, maybe we should put off having a baby another couple years."

"Why? Because of Sam?"

"Well, yes, and also for the sake of both babies, so they can each have our full attention."

"Angela, you don't have to make that kind of sacrifice. Sam wouldn't expect you to. And, well, I don't know that we should postpone it. It'll just make it harder for you, as you get older."

"Then maybe we should give up on the idea entirely."

"Is that what you want?"

She started crying again and I might've shed a couple tears myself. I held her close and we ended up quietly making love. It turned out she'd reached ovulation, but neither of us joked like we had been about whether we might be making a baby.

Other than that, we haven't had much sex since our return. OK, it's only been a couple weeks, but still. It's a lot of things. We're no longer in our fantasy castle, with no responsibilities. She's back at the agency, throwing herself into her work, partly because she feels guilty for her long vacation and partly because she missed it. (She told me she didn't realize how much she missed it till she was back.) I have more free time of course, but I am gearing up for the Fall. I also have the distraction of Sam's baby of course.

Sex is still good (it's never been bad between us), but it is different knowing that Jonathan is down the hallway, and that Mona will be back soon. (Next week, her latest letter says.) Also, Angela and I were spoiled by being able to walk around half-naked at the castle, or even naked if we stayed away from windows. We could slip into sex so easily, even in the middle of another task, because there was no task that couldn't be postponed.

Now it's back to reality. And don't get me wrong, I love the everyday life with her. I've loved that for ten years, missed it every time I lost it. It was good to go to the open-air market, but it was also nice to be welcomed back at the local grocery store. Italy is my homeland, but this is my home.

It's good to be back at Ridgemont, too. I had considered cutting back on my Fall classes, but Sam's baby isn't due till February, and she doesn't need me hovering over her, making sure she eats right. I mean, not to the extent that I need to be home 24/7, especially since she won't be. And if Angela is pregnant, too, well, she's not as far along as Sam. I might rethink my Spring schedule, but it's soon to worry about it now.

Angela and I agreed that there's no point in telling either of the kids about our hopes for a baby, whether or not we postpone or even cancel the plans. If Angela gets pregnant, then there will be plenty of time to tell them. But this is our private business otherwise. Sam isn't the only one who can have secrets.

I've got to admit I'm jealous about Sam's pregnancy. Not exactly in a man-wishing-he-could-have-a-baby kind of way. I mean, I would never want to go through what Marie went through, that my Samantha is going to go through. Yeah, it's incredible that women can bring life out of themselves, but who'd want to go through the pain of childbirth?

No, see, it bugs me, in a different way than when Angela took Sam bra-shopping and fussed over Sam's prom, that there are just some things that I can't be Sam's "mom" for. Yeah, I'm glad I've got Angela in my life to be that mother figure for Sam, and she's done a wonderful job at it. But sometimes I do feel left out. And here is something that Angela definitely has gone through, something none of Sam's friends her age have gone through. So now, whether or not Angela has another baby, she can help Sam through all the stages of pregnancy and after. Yeah, I can read up on it, like I once read up on menstruation, but it's not the same as having lived through it.

Sam's going in for her three-month check-up in a couple days. I wanted to go with her, especially since I've got free time right now, but she asked for Angela to. Yeah, we could both go I guess, but Sam didn't invite me. I guess she thinks Angela will "hover" less, besides the female bonding of course.

I remember when Sam ran off (well, drove off) with Bonnie on a ski weekend, after I forbade her to go. She was 16 and the only chaperone was Bonnie's irresponsible older sister. I kept remembering moments from the four years we'd been in Connecticut, and I thought of how Angela had "helped me get through puberty." (I thought that a couple years earlier, too, when my appendix burst and I thought I might die. That was the night I asked Angela to take care of Sam if anything happened to me. And I guess I also told Angela I love her, although my memory of that is very fuzzy.)

Anyway, the thing is, I said the night of the ski weekend (before Sam's conscience brought her home) that I was worried about what the next few years would bring, like Sam going away to college. She nearly did, but ended up here at Ridgemont. I also worried about her falling in love, and not puppy love like with Jesse. I didn't foresee the New Mexican engagement or the elopement, or now the divorce and pregnancy. Angela reassured me I'd get through whatever the future would hold, but I wouldn't have if I hadn't had Angela.

Can you imagine Kathleen coping with all this? It's not just that she's younger than Angela and has never had a kid, but it's also that she and Sam never connected as friends. I really am lucky, and I'd rather that Angela have a relationship with Sam that I'm jealous of sometimes than have to worry that the woman I fell in love with can't get along with my daughter.

Anyway, that's enough of a break, and I need to get back to my outlines.


	43. The Dirt

"So what have I missed?"

I laugh and pour Mona some more tea. Dad has been making me drink lots of tea, just like when I have my period. I feel sort of sorry for him. He hasn't dealt with a pregnancy in over twenty years, and he wants to hover and nag but he seems unsure how. I don't mind really. I mean, I like tea.

"Mona, I told you a lot on the way home from the airport."

"Yeah, yeah, you told me the stuff you can say in front of the family. I want the dirt!"

"Dirt?"

"Yes. Did you sleep with either Jonathan or Hank after I left?"

"No, Mona, I didn't."

"As a grandmother, I'm proud of you. But it would've made a better story, especially if it was both. Not at the same time of course."

I shake my head. She never changes, not really.

"Were you tempted to?"

"Uh huh. Especially with Jonathan." I blush.

"Interesting. Not Hank?"

"Well, somewhat with Hank. But I just saw him the one night and he loves the other woman, too, so I resisted."

"You're a stronger woman than I am, Sam."

I smile. "Thank you. And how many men have you slept with this summer?"

"More than you."

"I thought so."

"But I'll tell you about that after we're done with your dirt, or lack thereof."

It feels strange to be almost like a peer with Mona. For a long time, she was like the cool grandmother I always wanted, but Dad worried she'd be a bad influence on me. Like the time we both got dumped in one week (Jesse and Max), and we went out for "PG-rated fun." Yeah, I could've talked to Angela about being dumped. (No offense, but she's had a lot of experience with it.) But I needed someone who had experienced it more recently. And Mona is so unsinkable, it gave me hope that I could embrace life again, too. Anyway, Dad expected Mona to take me out and get me drunk or sneak me into a male strip club. But we went to dinner and really talked, I think for the first time as two women, although I was only 16.

Even with a marriage, an impending divorce, a pregnancy, and a fling under my belt, I don't know if I'm ready to hear about Mona's love life, but I'm definitely curious.

"So if you were tempted with Jonathan, why didn't either of you call?"

"It didn't get beyond kissing and hugging."

"Hm."  
"Should we have called you about that? Or just if we were on the edge of sex?"

"Well, obviously you two have enough willpower to keep it to first base most of the time."

"Right. Um, Mone."  
"Yes, Dear?"

"Uh, this is sort of embarrassing, but have you ever had someone you were really sexually compatible with, but you didn't feel an overwhelming need to rip each other's clothes off?"

"Hm. Let me think."

"This could take awhile," I tease and go and get the cookies.

She's not offended. Obviously, her sexual history (over 45 years, right? maybe 50) will take awhile to review. She's still thinking by the time I bring the cookies over on a plate.

"You baked?" she says in surprise.

"Of course not. Dad made these. I hope you don't mind that they're oatmeal. Dad doesn't like oatmeal himself, but he figured it would be healthiest for me."

"It's fine. I just wondered if pregnancy had made you more domestic."

"Yeah, I'm a regular Donna Reed." (I've been watching all these '50s shows on Nick at Nite. It's another world. It's hard to believe that Mona was a young mother during that time. I can't picture her vacuuming in pearls and heels.)

She chuckles and eats a cookie. When she's done, she has an answer for me. "Yes, I have. I have had a relationship like that."

"Really?"

"Really. Your Grandpa Nick."

"Mona!"

"Kidding. We never did more than kiss."

"Good. I mean, not that I would've minded if you had married him—"

"Then you and Jonathan could be step-cousins, too."  
"Ugh, you're right." Mom and Angela would've been stepsisters.

"I have had the kind of relationship you were talking about though. We were more friends than lovers, but when we did go to bed, it was really good."

"So what happened?"

She sighs. "There just wasn't the kind of love that you can build a romance on."

"Oh. Do you think that's what Jonathan and I have?"

"I don't know. So you're really sexually compatible, are you?"  
I blush again. "Well, not that I have a lot to compare it to, but yeah. It felt really right. Even though he's my stepbrother, even though he's younger, even though he's Jonathan the Geek."

"Interesting."

"So what does it mean?"

"Maybe that you're so comfortable with each other, after knowing each other so long, maybe it made the sex feel more comfortable."

"Hm, maybe."

"Or maybe he's your soulmate," she teases.

"No, I don't think so. We're too different."

"Oh, right," she says, glancing towards the main house, "soulmates are always identical."

"I didn't say that. And for all the opposites-attract stuff, Dad and Angela have a lot in common."

"Mm hm."  
"Mona! A few weeks ago you were trying to split me and Jonathan up and now it sounds like you're trying to matchmake us."

"I did say you could try this again next summer."

"Can we talk about something else?"

"All right. What's happening with your divorce?"

I update her on that, the various stages of paperwork and court dates. Angela's paying for her lawyer to help me, which I really appreciate.

"And Hank will pay child support?"

"Yes, he's agreed to that, once he makes enough."

"Oh?"

"Well, he hasn't been working this summer, except assisting Lisa."  
"Good ol' Whatshername."

"Yes. He's going to move to New York, look for puppetry work there, probably on television. And that way he'll be close enough that he can visit the baby once she's born."

"She?"

"Well, it's still too soon for an ultrasound, but I've always seen the baby as a girl."

"Ah. Daughters are nice."

I smile. "Yeah. Not that I'll mind if it's a boy. But I'm definitely not naming him Hank, Jr."

"Right. And tell me more about your job. It sounds like we found the winning outfit for your interview."

"Yeah, Mona, it was all due to your fashion sense."

I tell her how things are going at Harmony &amp; Hominy. It really has been fun, although I'm still at the training stage. I've met a few of their clients, but I'm not personally representing anyone yet. Down the road, I can help them go through the "slush pile" of submitted tapes and CDs, sort of like the manuscripts at a publishing house. That'll be something I can work on at home, which will be helpful in the last trimester and when Baby X is very young.

"And how is Baby X, gender aside?"

"Very healthy. Um, and so am I."

"In what sense?"

"Well, I had unprotected sex with Hank, obviously. And he's told me he hadn't slept with Lisa at that point. But I still got tested for HIV and STDs, just in case. And I'm clear. Negative."

"Oh, good!" She gives me a quick hug.

"Were you worried, Mona?"

"A little, yes."

"Isn't that a little, um?"

"Hypocritical?"

"I didn't say that."

"I know, Dear. But I've been insisting on my boyfriends using condoms since before it was cool."

"I'm glad. I just didn't realize I needed them in what I thought was a monogamous marriage."

She pats my hand. "I know."

"So tell me about your Hollywood romances."

"Well..."

But before she can get to anything juicy, my phone rings. I sigh. I wouldn't say all the calls I've got this summer have been bad, but I am a lot warier about the phone than I was two or three months ago.

"Do you want me to get that?"

"No, it's OK." I pick it up. "Hello?"  
"Hi-ee!"

"Hi, Julia," I say. I would know that greeting anywhere. She sounds like she's still 13, although she is (believe it or not) going to be a college senior.

"Hey, Sam, I want to give you my condolences and my congratulations."

"Condolences and congratulations?"

Mona rolls her eyes. She's always maintained that Julia's airheadedness makes redheads look bad.

"Yeah, condolences on your divorce, and congratulations on your baby."

"Oh, well, thank you. Who told you?"  
"Your dad did when he invited me."

"Invited you to what?"  
"I'm not supposed to say."

"OK. This wouldn't happen to be a surprise birthday party for me, would it?"

"Wow, Sam, you're smart! No wonder you skipped senior year in high school."  
"Thank you."

"Well, gotta go! I'll see you at the you-know-what on Saturday."

"Yeah, see ya." I hang up and shake my head.

"So Tony's throwing you a surprise party."

"Didn't you know?"

"Me? I've been in California and out of the loop. Plus, your father thinks I can't keep a secret."

"Well, you can keep big secrets. It's the little ones you have trouble with."

"True."

Neither of us say that she's keeping the big secret about me and Jonathan.

"So I wonder who else is invited?"

"You want me to find out?" she offers.

"No, I can at least be surprised by that."

"Knowing Tony, he'll invite Mason."

I laugh. "Well, enough about me. Tell me the Hollywood dirt. But keep it PG-rated."


	44. Veggie Platter

"Tony, this completely throws off my 15-year plan!"

"Give her time, Mase. Maybe she'll have the other five kids by her vacuous second husband."

Tony signals to me with his eyes, so I go over and rescue him. "Veggie platter, Mason?"

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Bower. I mean Mrs. Micelli." He grabs some carrot sticks and celery.

Mother also comes over. "Speaking of vacuous, Mason, allow me to introduce you to Julia."

I shake my head but let her lead him over to Sam's tall red-haired friend, who exclaims, "Hi-ee!"

I kiss Tony's cheek. "How are you doing?"  
He shakes his head. "Maybe this surprise birthday barbecue was a bad idea."

"Nonsense. Everyone's having a nice time and it's good for Sam to see all her old friends."

"I suppose so. I just don't want her to think I'm trying to fix her up with Mason. He's a good kid, but the last thing she needs right now is a boyfriend."

I don't point out that the "kid" is 22 and Tony's colleague in the Ridgemont History department.

"I think she knows you're not matchmaking her. Unlike some people." I glance over at Mrs. Rossini, who's trying to talk Al into overlooking Sam's pregnancy and marital status.

Tony wanted to do something special for Sam, who has after all had a very dramatic summer. Not that things have settled down of course, but at least she seems to have more direction than she did a couple months ago. The divorce is slowly moving along and she has a new job that she loves. Yes, the baby was a surprise, for her as well as us, but she seems happy about it.

And the other day Mother "predicted" that the baby will be a girl. She went over and had a talk with Sam after we all came back from the airport. (It's easier for Sam to open up to her than to me, because they've always been close, and they haven't kept secrets from each other recently, as Sam and I have.) And I guess Mother did the wedding ring (Sam's) on the chain (Mother's) trick, swinging it over Sam's still mostly flat belly. It swung in circles, which was all the confirmation that Sam needed, since she wants a daughter anyway. Now the whole family refers to the baby as a girl, although it's still awhile till Sam can get medical confirmation.

I think Tony was sort of hoping for a grandson, but he is happy to think that it might be a "little Marie." Another girl to spoil. And I know Mother and I are already looking forward to a little girl growing up here, remembering how we got Sam when she was almost 12.

Yes, I could have a daughter of my own. But I don't know anymore. Maybe it's best to concentrate on Sam's child now.

"Are you sure about that, Angela?" I can hear Dr. Hollis's voice in my head.

She asked to speak to me for a moment, after Sam's exam. I was touched that Sam wanted me to go with her, for support. But it wasn't easy to go into that office for Sam's sake, when I'd hoped that the next time I was there, it would be because I was pregnant. (My period has come and gone again, but I'm less surprised this time.)

Sam didn't think anything of the request, since Dr. Hollis was my doctor first. "Angela, I'll be at the smoothie place next door."

"OK, Sweetheart, I'll meet you there."

Dr. Hollis waited till Sam shut the door to say, "So tell me about Italy."

I was surprised. Surely if she wanted to hear travel stories, she could've asked me in front of Sam.

"Well, it was beautiful of course."

"Yes, I know. I've been there a couple of times. That's not what I meant."

"What do you mean?"

"Angela, I've known you about twenty years. I know that you're a very determined lady who doesn't take even leisure casually. I think there was more to this than just a second honeymoon."

"First actually."

"Mm hm."

I realized there was no point in pretending, and I did want to talk to someone else about this besides Tony. Mother hadn't yet come back, and I don't really want to confide in her, at least not till I'm ready. "Well, yes. I, I know it sounds silly, but I wanted to conceive in Italy."

"I don't think that's silly. But why didn't you consult me first?"

"I didn't even bring it up with Tony till we were on the cruise ship. I thought he might not want a baby. And, and maybe I was afraid you'd say I was too old."

"I would never tell a patient that. Unless she was 80 and delusional like Mrs. Fitzpatrick." (She wasn't violating patient confidentiality. Mrs. Fitzpatrick had gushed to me and Sam in the waiting room about her dreams of having a baby.)

I laughed and then sighed. "Well, I know there are risks at my age and maybe I hoped that if I came home pregnant, it'd be too late for you to warn me."

"There are risks. But you are very healthy. I still would've liked to have talked to you about going off the Pill though, before you made that choice on your own."

I nodded. "I understand."

"Have there been any side effects?"

We briefly discussed my health and cycle, including that I had PMS that day.

"Hm, it sounds like you may be able to conceive in the next few months."

"Thank you, but I've been rethinking that."

"Why? Just because it won't be 'made in Italy'?"

"Not just that. Yes, that would've been a very lovely, romantic conception. But it's also that, well, I feel overshadowed by Sam's pregnancy."

"That's understandable. But Sam's life is hers, and yours is yours. Well, yours and Tony's."

"Well, that's the thing. We're a very close-knit family. And it's not as if Sam is still with Hank. She's really going to need us, especially when the baby is small."

"I understand, but there's no rule saying you can't have a baby a year after Sam's."

I shook my head. "I've been thinking more like two or three years, but that would put me into my late 40s. The longer I wait, the harder it will be to get pregnant, and the more dangerous it will be to be pregnant."

"So you're thinking of giving up on having another child?"

"Yes." I tried not to cry.

"Are you sure about that, Angela?"

"I'm not sure about anything anymore, Dr. Hollis."

She silently handed me a tissue.

"Thank you. I mean, I already have two children in a way. Jonathan and Sam. And one of my children needs me. Yes, she has Tony, but he can't be her 'mother' in the way I can. Maybe it's selfish to want a baby of my own."

"It's not selfish. And there would be nothing wrong with being 'selfish' like that."

"I guess." I cried into the tissue.

"Look, Angela, if I know you, you've been hoping that every time you made love with Tony this summer, you were making a baby. Not that you didn't enjoy it for its own sake, of course."

"Dr. Hollis!"

She laughed. "Tony is a very good-looking man. And you two are still very obviously madly in love. Why don't you stay off the Pill for awhile longer, see what happens? Don't pressure yourself about getting pregnant. It might not happen. And if it does, I think Sam will be very happy that her baby will get a little uncle or aunt to play with."

I laughed again and then sighed again. "I need to think about this some more."

"Of course. Go get a smoothie, it'll cheer you up."

"Thank you, Dr. Hollis." I wanted to hug her, but it would've seemed inappropriate, like calling her by her first name. (Gladys.) So we shook hands and she told me to take care.

Then I went over to Smoothie Operator, where Sam treated me to chocolate mango and shared some of her tropical blast.

"Thanks again for coming with me today."

"Of course."

"Uh, so, did Dr. Hollis say anything about me after I left?"

"About you?"

"Yeah, maybe I have a fatal 'feminine disease' and she wanted you to break it to me gently."

"No, we mostly talked about me. And Italy."

"Italy?"

"Yes, whether the travel had, um, whether it affected my cycle."

"Oh. So, um, you still get your period?"

"Yes. Mother was 50 when she went through menopause."

Sam laughed. "She acts like she still hasn't reached it."

I laughed, too.

It's strange to think that in another dozen years or so, Sam's daughter (if it is a girl) will be getting her period. I try not to think about whether I'll have a daughter of my own by then.

Tired of badgering her uncle, Mrs. Rossini now pulls me as much aside as she can in this crowded backyard to say, "So, Angela? Given any thought to what I wrote you about?"

I try not to cry. She means well. And she can't know how heartbroken I am that Sam is the one who's pregnant. "Yes, but right now I'm getting ready for grandmotherhood."  
"There's no law that says you can't do both. I mean, look at my family, with my Uncle Al only 25."

"Yes, I know."

"Well, I guess if God wants to give you and Tony a baby, He will."

"I guess so."

"Hey, is Julia single?"

"Yes, but she's not Italian. Or Catholic."

She shrugs. "She can convert."

But I've just noticed Sam bringing over her old friend Charlie to Al. The two New Yorkers immediately start insulting each other.

"A match made in Heaven," I murmur and Mrs. Rossini laughs.


	45. Fount

"And just where do you think you're going, Young Man?"

I shake my head. "Grandma, you know where I'm going."

"So you're not even going to deny it! The minute Tony and Angela go out to dinner, you sneak out to see Sam."

"I'm not sneaking. I'm going through the kitchen, right past you."

She waves her hand dismissively. "I don't count. I already know."

"Then you must know why I'm going."

"Jonathan, sit down."

I sigh, but I sit. "Well?"

"Jonathan, I'm very proud of you."

I blink. "Proud?"

"Yes. From talking to Sam, and from my own observations, you've kept it in your pants."

"Grandma!"

"That shows incredible restraint, especially at your age."

"Well, it's not exactly like Sam and I had much privacy this month."

"You still could've snuck off together. Or you might not even have had to sneak. Tony and Angela wouldn't have thought anything of it if you took Sam to the movies, even a drive-in."

"There are no drive-ins left in Fairfield. They were killed off by cable and VCRs years ago."

"Oh, there are still drive-ins in Connecticut. You just have to know where to look."

"Thanks for the tip."

"You're welcome. So why have you and Sam just done a little hugging and kissing in the past five weeks?"

"Oh, she told you about that?"

"Of course."

Now I'm really glad Sam and I didn't go to bed again. Grandma would've found that out. I don't entirely blame Sam. I know how good Grandma is at getting people to admit things.

"So why haven't you done more?"

I sigh. "Well, we promised you. And it seems for the best for now."

"Do you miss her?"

"Yeah, I do," I say quietly. "Not just the romantic part, but everything. I mean, I still see her almost every day of course, but it's different now. We both knew it couldn't go on forever, but it ended before we expected."

"So why are you going over there now?"  
"To say goodbye. It'll be different at the airport tomorrow, with Mom and Tony there."

"And by goodbye you mean?"

I blush. "Maybe a hug and a kiss."

"That's all?"

"Well, yeah, with you waiting for a report afterwards—"

"Jonathan."

"What?"  
"Are you two making plans for the future?"

"The future!? We don't even have a present right now."

"You know what I mean. Are you going to try to get together next summer?"

"I don't know. Maybe we'll do what you said we should do. She'll concentrate on her baby and her job. And I'll concentrate on school."

"And date other girls?"

"Well, you said I should."

"Is that what you want?"

I sigh. "I don't know. I think I might feel like I was cheating on Sam, even if I haven't made her any promises."

"Jonathan, you're very young and—"

"Yeah, I know."

"Let me finish. Sam is young, too, but she's seen a little more of life than you have. When she was your age, she was engaged to Matt."

"Yeah, I remember. Are you suggesting I go get engaged to a cowgirl to even things out?"

"I don't think you need to take it to that point. But I don't want you to get too attached to Sam just because she's your first."

I blush. "I'm not in love with her or anything."

"Hey, Kiddo, there'd be no shame in it if you were, stepsister or not. At least as far as I'm concerned."

"Well, thank you."

"You know how much I care about both of you. I want you both to be happy, and I'm not going to say you couldn't make each other happy. But it's too soon for you to commit."

"Grandma, Sam and I aren't even dating!"

She laughs.

"Well, we're not," I grumble.

"OK. And the fling is over?"

"Yeah. Basically. Yeah, it's over."

"You don't sound too sure about that."

"Well, it's not like we broke up. We're pausing I guess. We don't know if we'll start up again. Next year or twenty years from now."

"Twenty years might be better. Her baby will be off at college by then and Sam will be going through the empty nest syndrome."

"Well, there you go. I'll tell Sam 'See you in 2014.' "

"I guess what I'm saying is, keep your options open. With Sam and anyone else who comes along."

"Or you know, I could just not date anyone." That's what I've done most of my life.

"No reason to take after your mother."

I laugh. "OK. Now can I go visit Sam?"

"Knock yourself out."  
"No 'don't do anything I wouldn't do' warnings?"

"Come on, Jonathan, who would we be kidding?"

I laugh again. "I love you, Grandma."

"I love you, too, Baby."

I don't mind her calling me that. She hasn't in years. I give her a quick hug and then leave.

I do want to kiss and hold Sam one last time, one last time for awhile anyway. But mostly I want to thank her for this crazy summer. Yeah, August hasn't been as crazy as June or July, not even with the confusion when Bonnie showed up to Sam's birthday with her new guy and it was her new new guy, not the old new guy that she called Sam about a couple months ago. Anyway, there's still been stuff to deal with, even if it's that Sam's life continues to change faster than mine.

I actually did have a lazy summer, although not the one I expected. Next year, whether or not I start things up with Sam again, I think I'll get a summer job. All this time on my hands is probably not good for me. But I don't regret being the one who was there for Sam when she needed it. I will never regret that part.

I cross the driveway and head up the stairs. I do my iambic knock.

She opens the door almost immediately, as if she knew I'd drop by. But then she knew Mom and Tony would be gone for the evening.

"Howdy, Stranger."

"Howdy." I suddenly remember her riding me cowgirl style. Oh, damn!

She looks down at my crotch and smiles.

"Sam, I'm sorry, that's not why I came over."

"It's OK, Snake-boy," she says softly. "You're 18. Even wallpaper makes you happy."

"Yeah. Um, can I still come in?"

"Of course."  
I do and she shuts the door behind me.

"Um, I just wanted to say goodbye and thank you."

She smiles. "Well, thank you, too. For everything!"

I smile back. "My pleasure."

We both laugh.

Then I swallow. "Um, Sam, I know we said we weren't committing to anything, but, um, would you mind if I started dating?" I can't believe I said that, and in that way. How stupid am I?

"Why? You got someone lined up already?"

"No, I just mean hypothetically."

"I hear Julia's available."

"She's a little old for me. I mean—"

"At least she's not your stepsister."

"Right. Sam, I want to be with you." I can't believe I said that either! "But I can't right now."

"Jonathan, I've thought about this. I'm not going to be like Mona and say you should date around. But if you meet someone, please please don't give up on it just because of me."

"OK." I still feel confused.

"You know I'm still sorting out my own life. I'm still legally married. I'm still pregnant."

"Right."

"Also, when I was your age, I got engaged to Matt. I could've spent my first year of college dating different guys, but I'd tied myself down."

"I already had my first year of college."

"You know what I mean."

"OK."

"I can't make you any promises, and I don't think you can make me any. But I think what we had was special and I'm glad we had it."

"Me, too."

And then we hug and kiss. The kiss is quick, the hug is long. She doesn't remark that my erection hasn't gone away. We just hold each other, fitting together so perfectly. I wish I could have her, and I don't just mean HAVE HER.

But I can't. And at least I get to say goodbye in private.

"You think Dad and Angela will get suspicious if I cry at the airport tomorrow?"

"Nah, you're pregnant. You're supposed to be emotional." I don't say I wish I had an excuse. Instead I say, "I wish you'd stop crying on me though. It's really gross."

"Says the boy who had a praying mantis for a pet."

"Hey, at least they don't have snot."

"You remain a fount of scientific trivia."  
I laugh. "Thanks."

After that, it seems the right moment to break apart.

"Well, see ya tomorrow."

"See ya, Geek."

It's not easy walking out the door, down the stairs, and across the driveway, and not just because I still have an erection. At least Grandma's gone when I return. I head to my room and deal with it the way I usually deal with it, with the exception of the twelve hours I had someone else to help me with this.


	46. Mascara

"You got everything, Pal-o-Mine?" I ask, patting Jonathan's shoulder.  
"Yeah, thanks, Tony."

"I'm going to miss you so much!" Angela flings her arms around her son and starts crying.

"Well, I guess you shouldn't have had that long honeymoon, should you?" he teases.

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart! We should've waited till the Fall."

"But then I would've had to take time off," I point out. Not to mention that Sam's pregnancy would be even further along.

"Mom, it's OK. Really. And I'll see you at Christmas."

"OK." She lets go of him and wipes her eyes.

"Hey, Kid, don't do anything—" Mona begins, and I shoot her one of my warning looks. "Anything too sophomoric."

"I'll try."

She hugs him and I think I hear her say, "Remember what we talked about." I'm a little worried about what kind of advice Mona could be giving, but she is sensible underneath her wildness.

Sam gives him a quick hug and says, "Take it easy, Dweeb."

"You, too, Colonel Porker."

I shake my head. In some ways, it seems like those two will never grow up. But then, Mona and her brother Archie still call each other "Monie" and "Jughead," and they're in their 60s.

I don't know how another kid would fit in, I mean Angela's and mine. If we do have one, and if we do wait two or three years, Jonathan might be done with college. I can't see him getting married and then becoming a single parent living at home. In a way though, that appeals to me, one big multi-generational family, like in the Old Country. But he's never had a serious relationship, or even semi-serious, unlike Sam in her late teens. More likely, he'll be one of those guys who doesn't get married till 40, and doesn't become a father till 50.

But no hurry, of course. I would never pressure him, like I was pressured by everyone during my widowhood. (Well, everyone except guys like Philly Fingers, who wanted me to stay a wild bachelor and didn't realize that I was happy settling down with Angela and our blended family, long before I was ready to actually marry her.)

It suddenly hits me that Jonathan may well be the only son I'll ever have. He's not of my blood, he's not a bit Italian, but he is the only other man in this increasingly female family. I love the four generations of Robinson-Micelli women—outrageous but wise Mona, angelic but devilish Angela, tough but vulnerable Sam, and her precious daughter-to-be (we don't know for sure but Sam and Mona have the rest of us half convinced)—but Jonathan is the only close male family member I've had since I lost my father in '83.

I give him an extra hug. "Make us proud, Jonathan."

"I'll try." He sounds more choked up than when the women said goodbye.

I ruffle his spiky hair. "I know you will. You always do." I mean that he tries and he succeeds.

"Thanks, Tony."

They call his flight number and he lets go. We all follow him over to the podium and watch as he shows his ticket and is waved aboard. I glance over at Sam. I think of how many times she's had to greet or see people off at the airport, or at the dock for the cruise, in the last few months. I wonder if she ever gets jealous, ever wishes she was going someplace, even if it's just a vacation. I wonder if she gets tired of saying goodbye.

Well, she'll be saying hello to her baby in about five and a half months, and that's going to tie her down for awhile. It'll tie me and Angela down, too, somewhat, but I don't mind. It'll be fun to have a baby around again, like Baby Clint, only this one will stay longer than a few days. And even if Sam and the baby move out someday, they'll still be a part of my life, for the rest of my life. That makes me very happy, even though I worry that Sam is too young and immature for this.

But then, was I ready at 20? How could I have been? For lack of sleep and diaper-changing, maybe. (And even then, I was on the road a lot of the time.) But everything I've dealt with since Marie died? No way could I have even imagined it then.

Jonathan waves goodbye one last time and then he's gone. Last year, he was still a kid, 17, immature in some ways, even if he had skipped a year of school. This year, it feels like we're saying goodbye to a man, although I can't pinpoint what the difference is. I mean, he mostly watched TV and listened to Sam's problems, near as I can tell. He's maybe a little taller than last summer, but he's still, well, a skinny geek.

"Dear, your mascara's running."

"Oh, excuse me a moment."

"I'll go with you." I notice that Mona's mascara is running, too, and she hardly ever cries.

The two "Robinson women" head towards the ladies' and it's just me and Sam for the moment. I notice she's got tears in her eyes, too.

"You can go with them, you know. I can wait here."

"It's OK, Dad, I'm not wearing mascara."

I realize something. She hasn't worn make-up as much since Hank left her. First she was too depressed and then she got a job where, even though it's show-biz, they're not big on glamour. Plus, I guess she's not exactly trying to attract or keep a man these days, is she? She still looks cute, beautiful really, but part of that's from the glow of pregnancy I think.

"Why are you smiling?"

"I was just thinking how beautiful you are."

"Like Mama?"

I'm startled. She hasn't said "Mama" since she was little. "Yeah, like Marie."

"I hope I'm as good a mother as she was. And as you were."

I laugh. "Me, too."

"And as Angela was." Now the tears start falling.

"Hey, Honey, are you all right?"

"Pregnancy hormones."

"Right." I hesitate and then I ask, "Are you going to miss Jonathan?"

"That dweeb?"

"Yeah, that dweeb."

She nods and then whispers, "He's my best friend."

"I thought I was your best friend."

"You're in a special category, Dad."

I put my arm on her shoulder and take her over to get tea while we wait.

"Dad, I already have to pee."

I shake my head. "Women."

"Aw, you love us anyway."

"Yeah, I do."

She goes off to join Angela and Mona in the restroom, and I order tea for everyone. I know all their favorites. I don't always understand these women, but I know them.

TO BE CONTINUED


End file.
